"A Vampyre's Sunrise" by Jeff Schanz **Sample Only**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sequel to

A Vampyre’s Daughter

 

 

 

 

A novel by Jeff Schanz

Copyright © 2020 Jeff Schanz

All rights reserved

 

**7 CHAPTER SAMPLE ONLY**

NOT FOR RETAIL

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

 

 

Brandt’s fingertips hovered above the laptop keyboard, close enough and long enough for the plastic surface to be warm. The word “Vincent” was the sole occupant of the glaring white screen. He stared at the screen, then the keyboard, then the screen, then shook his head at his timidity. Or was it just plain fear? Taking a deep breath, he finally tapped at the keys.

 

 

 

Vincent,

Hey, lil bro. I know we just talked on the phone two weeks ago, but there’s something important I’ve been putting off telling you. When you read it, you might think I should be in an asylum, so that’s why I’ve been avoiding it.

Last time we talked I told you about Lia and how amazing she is, and how much I love her. We want to get married – I guess I told you that too. I know, I’m stalling. I also told you I was happy and everything was fine, and I meant it, but there are some complications. There’s stuff that nobody else on earth knows but myself and Lia, mainly because it’s extremely hard to believe, incredibly awkward to discuss, and dangerous to Lia if people knew, so we’ve kept it secret. Even from you. But my future wife will be a part of this family, tiny as it is, and family shouldn’t keep these kinds of secrets from each other. It’s a long story, and it’ll probably sound insane, so bear with me. I swear what I’m going to tell you is the absolute truth. So, here goes.

When I disappeared a couple months ago, I made a crazy plan to ram a boat full of explosives into the yacht of an opium kingpin called The Russian. I’ve told you about him. It was his men that murdered my whole Army squad, and it’s his operation I’ve been sabotaging ever since I got out of the service. He’s also the one who sent guys after you, and why you had to move to Canada for your safety. My plan was a suicide mission, a boat with explosives to blow a hole in his yacht, to end his life and mine at the same time. You know how messed up my head was about how The Russian tortured, killed, and mutilated everyone in my squad, and how God stuck me with being the sole survivor. I was pissed at God and didn’t think I deserved to live. Maybe I’m blowing your mind right now about being suicidal, but that’s not even the hard-to-believe part. Let’s just say I’m all better now and get back to the story. My plan backfired, I never got to the yacht, my boat blew up anyway, but I stayed alive. Again. Two people rescued me and brought me to a remote island on the far edge of the California waters. Things improve from there – sort of. But they also get weirder.

The two benefactors who saved me were an elderly Russian aristocrat, Viktor Zakharyin, and his daughter, Natalia, who were the sole residents (and owners) of the island. I called Natalia, “Lia,” and it stuck. She nursed me back to health and gave me a new reason for living. Vincent, she’s the most incredible woman I have ever met, and she actually, truly loves me. I stopped trying to figure out why and I just accept it now. That’s the good part of the story. The bad part is coming up.

It turns out the man I had been trying to sabotage and kill, The Russian, happened to be the same guy who murdered Lia’s entire family in Russia (only she and her father escaped) and was still hunting her, which was why they were hiding way out on that island. So, once I show up, The Russian finds out all his prime targets were on the same island, and he came after us. I had to kill a lot of men. A lot. The casualties were mostly on The Russian’s side, but Lia’s father sacrificed his life for us. Long story short, we managed to kill The Russian and turn over his yacht to the Coast Guard, and we were finally safe from him. You too. But Lia lost the only family she had left, and the only other soul she knew for… well, a really long time. She had no one else but me, and hadn’t left the island in... well, also a really long time.

I say a really long time, but that’s a dodge. I guess I need to stop stalling and tell you exactly how long. Lia had been on that island almost 100 years.

No, it’s not a typo, and I haven’t been drinking… today. Yet. Let me be clear: Lia is 121 years old. Technically, I guess that means she’s a cougar robbing the cradle with me. Sorry, you know bad jokes are my coping mechanism. I know what you’re thinking right now, and you’d be wrong. Lia isn’t a decrepit old hag. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and I swear she looks like she’s 21 rather than 100 years older. Yeah, I know… bullshit. Well, here’s more bullshit. The reason Lia looks so young, despite her age, is because she’s a vampyre.

There, I said it. Yup. Not a typo, and not a joke. Lia is a vampyre.

I’ll wait for you to read that sentence a couple of times.

Ok, now that you’re shaking your head and questioning my sanity, let me explain. She has what she calls the “affliction” of vampyrism, which is all about how this viral-type stuff takes over your system and turns you into something beyond human limits. She’s written a book on the subject that would be helpful for you to read. It explains it way better than I can, but I’ll try. Being a vampyre isn’t like the movies, or old myths, although, there is some truth to some of those myths. Like, Lia can’t go out into the sun for long. The sun’s radiation burns her skin like bathing in Uranium, and she will die from it. She has ways to avoid it, like clothing that completely covers her, and UV protection on our windows, etc., but we always have to be very cautious. Another of those old truths is that she does need to drink blood. But not human blood. Lia feeds from our farm animals, and it doesn’t harm them. All vampyres need blood, but it’s entirely up to the individual what kind of blood. Basically, bad vampyres suck human blood and good ones don’t. Lia is a good one.

She is also a Living vampyre. Not undead, or even close to dead. She’s as alive and healthy as either one of us. Healthier actually. Vampyre systems are more efficient, constantly healing their bodies, so they live extra-long lives. Not immortal though. That’s a myth. Anyway, there’s two types of vampyre: the living ones and the undead ones. Lia’s father was an undead one. Basically, a reanimated corpse, but with superpowers. The corpse body is frail, but it can project this kind of material hologram that is more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen. Viktor liked to appear as a Man-Bat, freaking scary as shit, and could wipe out a squad of trained soldiers in seconds. But he’s gone forever now. The Russian, aka a guy named Mikhail, was also coincidentally an Undead vampyre, but we destroyed him and melted him into sludge. I think I’m losing focus here, but I wanted to explain that Undead vampyres are the ones that can project themselves to look like giant bats and other creatures, can fly, and can be invisible to mirrors, etc. Living vampyres can’t. Except for Lia. She can do some of that, but she’s different. This sounds confusing even to myself, so I’ll stop trying to explain that part. Anyway, Lia’s pretty much a normal, sweet girl who has a severe sun allergy and a unique diet. You still with me so far?

Her father left her a lot of money from his days of aristocracy so we were able to buy a nice ranch property in Ventura, and we’re happy there. She was scared to leave the island, and we still haven’t moved everything from there yet, but it’s in process. I don’t know when we’re going to be officially married (technically, I haven’t even asked her yet – it’s just sort of assumed) but I’d guess we’ll do it soon after everything gets moved here. But I want you to come down and meet her when you can get the time off. You can stay with us as long as you like, we’ve got plenty of space. If possible, bring your wife. I’d love for her to meet Lia too. Even though Lia is a vampyre, she’ll seem just as normal as anyone, and you’ll both love her too. She is my life. I would die for her, kill for her, and she for me. My life is the best it’s ever been.

You might be wondering if I've lost my marbles, or I was concussed too much from the boat explosion, but I swear I'm telling you the God's honest truth. Hopefully, it's obvious why I waited so long to tell you because it sounds so insane. Hey, if I didn't live it, I sure as hell wouldn't believe it. If you told me it happened to you, I’d be skeptical. So I get it if you are.

The best thing is to just meet Lia for yourself. Even then, you might not believe it.

This has got to be the lamest letter I’ve ever tried to write. And maybe pointless since I’ll probably chicken out and never send it.

 

 

 

Brandt lifted his hands from the computer keyboard and dropped his face into his palms, exasperated. His brother needed to be told the truth, but this probably wasn’t the way to do it. How the hell do you tell someone your girlfriend is really a vampyre? This email was pathetically inadequate. Texting would be far worse. Phone call, no better. Video message? Awkward. Even in person, how do you say, “See that sweet girl over there talking to your wife? Guess what? She’s really a blood-sucking vampyre. Seriously, no bullshit. Want another beer?”

Brandt spent another minute trying to invent the courage to hit “send,” but all he accomplished was kneading his face with his fingertips while the glowing screen continued to mock him. The words hadn’t magically rearranged themselves into a more suitable fashion despite his brain willing them to. There had to be a better way. He shut the laptop and sat back in his chair, sighing.

He was petrified to tell anyone about Lia, and she was just as petrified for anyone to know. She and her father had been hunted and persecuted all their lives for the misconceptions of what they were. And if the wrong people found out, Lia might become a victim of any number of things: hate crimes, imprisonment, government interference, or even medical experimentation. Or just maybe some relative of Mikhail, aka The Russian, aka an opium emperor with exorbitant amounts of money, power, and global connections, might seek Lia out for revenge, or want to make more of Mikhail’s super-power elixir that requires vampyre blood. It was best to keep a low profile. But if you couldn’t trust your own brother, who could you trust?

Vincent and Brandt Dekker were all each other had after their father died of cancer in their teens. Their mother, who had passed much earlier in a car crash, named them after famous Dutch painters: Rembrandt van Rijn and Vincent van Gogh. Brandt always hated the reference, preferring the nickname Brandt for himself. Vincent was insistent on sticking with his mother’s original preference, and anyone who tried to shorten it to Vince would be quickly corrected. The boys were opposites in many ways, but they could count on each other. When no one stepped up to take care of them, they decided they needed no one else. Vincent was Brandt’s only family, and there was no question that he needed to know about Lia. The question was how could Brandt make Vincent believe it and not be disowned?

Brandt glanced at his phone and noticed the time. Though he still had a few minutes until he needed to leave, you could never count on L.A. traffic. He stood up, grabbed a quick snack, plucked his car keys from the table, and went out the door.

Even if he was late, dead bodies weren’t going to get up and run away. Usually.

 

 

 

Brandt’s silver Ford F150 truck slowed as it approached the gap in the metal link fence. “Crime Scene” tape that, at one time, had been stretched across the gate, was now shredded and resembled streamers. The fence sagged near the top and pulled away from its support poles in several places. It had originally been erected to keep casual trespassers out, not serious intruders. Those would’ve been dealt with by security men, probably present all over the grounds when this place was occupied. But now, there was no one here. No one alive anyway.

Brandt parked the truck in front of a loading area. The building originally was a manufacturing plant that had gone out of business or moved. The less-than-lawful enterprise that took the building over was more interested in anonymity than curb appeal, so the whole structure was left to rot, and would’ve been condemned if an inspector was allowed to visit. That newer enterprise was now also out of business and gone. Or more accurately, here in body but not in spirit.

Brandt got out of the truck and looked around, but didn’t see the man he was supposed to meet here. It wasn’t too early. The other guy was just late. Leave it to government officials to believe time waited for them.

Ex-Army Sergeant Brandt Dekker had seen enough of the government from his ass-end view after two tours in Afghanistan and being the sole survivor of a terrifying black-ops raid in Pakistan that got him sent home with a head full of nightmares. Nothing else came from the government besides a psych eval, useless medals, and some scattered unofficial apologies. He was also the man who killed The Russian and brought down an international opium empire, garnering him hero status, which also meant that suddenly everyone, including the Army, bent over backward to help him. Some of it was genuine, some of it posturing.

The best of the genuine ones was his buddy from the U.S. Army Special Operations Command. Colonel Tom Hart had helped get Brandt’s civilian life back on track, starting with the on-call job Tom gave to Brandt as a special consultant to the military on issues to do with international drug operations.

The Russian’s death sent a shockwave that put a lot of operations into hiding all over the world, and there hadn’t been many things to consult on in the months following the incident. The few assignments he did get, he had been a decent help, which kept him feeling useful. Despite his easy life with Lia on their new ranch, and the lack of money issues, he still had a soldier’s soul that needed a worthwhile job. So today’s call was appreciated, it just wasn’t glamorous.

He was currently waiting in a weed-infested loading dock of a dilapidated warehouse, with dozens of dead bodies supposedly inside, which he could provisionally confirm given the foul odor his nose was picking up. But he wasn’t supposed to go in without Tom’s presence, so his official confirmation would have to wait.

Seventeen minutes late, Tom Hart pulled a black Crown Victoria into the warehouse grounds and parked next to Brandt. He got out with his hands in the air, apologizing before he was fully out of the vehicle.

“Sorry, man, Faye had a crisis with one of the kids,” said Tom. “I had to pull over to search something on WebMD for her. Like she doesn’t have a damned computer in the house.”

Brandt laughed. “It’s more legit if it comes from you.”

Tom grimaced and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Crisis averted. Have you been inside yet?”

“No. You told me I had to wait for you. I figured it would be illegal, or something.”

Tom gave a horse snort. “I’m not sure what you and I are doing is entirely legal to any law enforcement branch, but whatever.”

Tom was a pre-middle-aged man with a balding head and the kind of face that people trusted. Despite the sparse pate and dad bod, Tom had been one of the best officers the Army ever had. He led several successful off-the-books raids, then headed-up intel for similar kinds of missions. Eventually, he wound up driving a desk, supervising people to do the jobs he used to do himself. After Brandt’s first tour, Tom asked Brandt to join one of his squads to do some off-the-books stuff in Afghanistan. Of course, the last one ended badly, just across the border of Pakistan, with the traumatic deaths of Brandt’s squad, but Tom had done right by Brandt since. Brandt would trust Tom with his life, and had already done so on several occasions. And Tom had essentially invented this consulting job just for Brandt.

Tom ducked under the crime scene tape in the loading bay door and Brandt did the same. The two men walked into a large concrete room that housed a collection of mechanical equipment and conveyor belts that were all damaged in varying degrees. It smelled terrible for good reason. Brandt had been told what this meeting was about, though he still wasn’t sure what to expect. Supposedly, there would be a few dead bodies, mutilated similarly to the demise of his own squad in Pakistan. What he saw somewhat fit that description, except there were far more than a few corpses.

“Thirty-six bodies,” said Tom. “At least, by our count. And that’s not for certain since, as you can see, there’s a lot of detached body parts to account for.”

Brandt did see, and what he saw made his stomach acids curdle. He wasn’t squeamish, but Tom had been right about how the bodies had been mutilated, and it all came rushing back in Brandt’s mind: Every man in his squad brutally killed, dismembered, and desecrated, with internal organs and body parts arranged in symbolic patterns as sadistic messages, and the enemy’s urine splattered on them as a final insult. Brandt tried to shake away the memory. The bodies in front of him were enough to focus on.

There was a mix of men and women, mostly Hispanic, very possibly illegal immigrants since they tended to be commonly used in jobs that sought out the most desperate workers. Whoever they were, they were probably just people trying to eke out a dollar to keep their families alive, not hardened, soulless drug manufacturers. The hardened, soulless ones were the people who ran the drug manufacturing business, and were likely responsible for these poor people’s deaths. But he couldn’t assume that yet.

Brandt bent down next to one of the predominantly whole corpses. A small woman with wide hips and a weathered face. She probably had a kid or two somewhere. A husband too, judging by the wedding band. Maybe her husband and kids were among the corpses. Brandt surveyed the bodies on the floor and thought he recognized a few adolescents.

“No bullets or casings found,” said Tom. “All the deaths were inflicted by blades of some kind. At least, we think so.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told me,” said Brandt.

“Sorry, I forgot what I told you.”

Tom cautiously stepped over human bodies on the blood-slick floor and gestured to a corpse that was sitting up, propped against the leg of a conveyor table.

“This one has urine all around the body,” said Tom.

Brandt stood up and nodded. “Just that one?”

“As far as we can tell.” When Tom said, “we,” he meant his fellow investigators in the Army Special Forces. But those men were on payroll to investigate murders, misdeeds, and accusations involving soldiers, etc. They were not trained in drug cartel wars, and that’s why Brandt was called. The USASOC only handled dealings with drug cartels if there was an explicit Army tie somewhere. Though Brandt had his suspicions, Tom hadn’t explained that association yet for this case, but Brandt knew he’d eventually get around to it.

Brandt examined the woman’s corpse at his feet. Her throat had been cut and her limbs and torso were butchered by the same blade. From the way she fell, plus the spacing of the cuts, it appeared to Brandt like the initial wound was her throat, and then they hacked her up after she was already on the ground. There were thirty-six bodies, all likely killed by blades, all mutilated, some dismembered. Some of the limbs were scattered far from their torsos, but many seemed to have been cut off and left in their national positions. And though the urine desecration was the contemptuous signature of The Russian’s cartel, as well as some of the Mujahideen fighters Brandt had known, this one wasn’t contempt. It was suggestive. Made to resemble either The Russian or Mujahideen calling card, but only a singular example instead of every victim. Whatever the reason for marking only the one body, the result was a message to whomever the killers aimed to intimidate with this display, implying that The Russian’s cartel was alive and kickin’, and still lord here.

“Why the hell do they do that?” asked Tom.

Brandt shrugged, trying to will away the memories of his slaughtered Army brethren. “It’s their version of heads on a spike.” Brandt stepped over a few more corpses to approach Tom. “This whole thing is a display, meant to terrorize. How did they find this scene?”

Brandt meant the police. Tom answered, “Anonymous tip. Someone smelled something, heard something, police showed up, and voila.”

Brandt knotted his brow. “There’s no neighbors even close enough to smell or hear anything, and pedestrians and joggers would be too far away outside that fence. Sounds kinda fishy to me.”

“Oh, we know that. The tip was probably bait. So, yeah, I buy what you’re saying about this being a display. But who’s the display for?”

“That I don’t know yet.”

Brandt stepped over a couple more bodies and swiveled slowly. He put his hands on his hips and blew out a frustrated breath.

“I only see workers,” said Brandt. “There’s no bigwigs here.”

Tom took another glance around. “What about the guy who got pissed on?”

Brandt shook his head. “Line foreman, or someone low on the totem pole. Look at his watch.”

“Watch?”

“Cheap plastic job, probably ten bucks from Wal-Mart. The cartel bosses either don’t have watches and use their expensive phones, or have expensive watches to show off. That guy’s watch is just for keeping up with daily production minutes. Plus he wears sneakers, not dress shoes, to be comfortable pacing the floor. He ran the workers not the business.”

Tom wobbled his head side to side. “So, who’s his boss?”

“Not here. Either he ran and escaped, or he just wasn’t around.”

Tom thought and cocked an eyebrow. “If he ran, they’d have just gone after him. No need for this display.”

“Yep. So, either he’s an absentee boss, or this is for someone higher than him.”

“So, alpha-dogs goin’ after each other. Hostile takeover?”

Brandt nodded. “That’s my guess. Turf war.”

“That’s what we were thinking too. But there’s something else confusing us.”

Brandt straightened up and lifted an eyebrow at Tom. “Are we gonna get around to why Army Special Forces gives a shit about this?”

“It’s not a secret. Just delicate.”

Tom stuffed his hands in his coat pocket and stepped away from the pile of bodies to pace. He gave Brandt the look of reluctant disclosure. It was a pretty standard facial expression from any Army brass when dealing with disclosures to subordinates.

“Some of it’s classified and it’s a long story. I’ll shorten it up as long as you promise to keep your lips tight,” said Tom.

Brandt snorted a chuckle. “Gimme a freakin’ break. It’s written seven times in my damned contract.”

Tom grimaced. “Sorry. Habit. Ok, so here’s the story.”

Despite the declaration that the story was coming, Tom hesitated, eyes fixed on one of the butchered corpses. He eventually snapped out of his distraction and began.

“We had one of our airborne guys go AWOL a few months back, a little after the time you got out. Corporal Jamir Davis. He had been part of an unsanctioned raid, classified above your pay grade, but let’s just say it happened in a country that’s supposed to be an ally. He turned up as a hostage in a terrorist camp and someone above me decided to negotiate for his release. Well, we got him back and surprise-surprise, he wasn’t grateful. We did some digging and found out that he had been double-dealing, doing jobs for this mullah from the terrorist camp the whole time, and that mullah was associated with your Russian. We tried to arrest Jamir and he bolted. He put one of the arresting officers in the hospital. We’ve been looking for him ever since. Rumor has it he’s an enforcer for whoever is dealing that new power drug that’s so popular.”

“Power drug? The one that’s making people go insane, kill people, and kill themselves?” asked Brandt.

“That’s the one. You know it?”

“Read about it.”

Brandt’s understanding was that the drug made you feel powerful, noticeably stronger and younger, but also had the tendency to make you mentally unstable, feral, aggressive, and ultimately violent. It seemed all too easily connected to Mikhail’s superpower elixir, but as far as Brandt knew, he had all the vials of that stuff. He had never told anyone about them, and had never turned them in. The elixir was made from Lia’s family blood and he didn’t feel anyone else had the right to it, and he didn’t believe any good could come from anyone other than Lia having it. How it was showing up on the streets in badly copied form was anyone’s guess, but he wanted to find out. Brandt kept his composure as Tom went on.

“We thought this might be Jamir’s operation, and maybe someone from The Russian’s old organization isn’t happy that he stole their territory. It’s a guess, but it’s a reasonable one.”

Brandt nodded. There was a trace of elusiveness in Tom’s tone that suggested he was holding something back. Brandt tried to ignore it. “Got any other guesses?”

Tom waggled his head back and forth. “The flip-side argument. That maybe our soldier boy helped do this himself. Maybe he’s working for whoever took over The Russian’s biz and is trying to eliminate rivals. But since The Russian's stuff was opium-based and the power drug is mostly other stuff, that explanation doesn’t make much sense.”

Sense has nothing to do with it.

Brandt surveyed the room once again to see if there was anything else that could offer a clue. He noticed an open door that led to a rear parking lot and thought he saw another body outside.

“Is that another body out there?” Brandt asked.

Tom turned in the direction Brandt was gesturing. “Yeah, one more. It looks like he tried to escape and got caught.”

Brandt began to walk to the back door. “Tell me more about this AWOL guy you’re talking about.”

“Corporal Davis?” said Tom. “Good soldier, tough son of a bitch. The men liked him more or less. I thought he just snapped at first. How he went all the way to the dark side, I have no idea.”

“If he ever met with Mikhail, that might’ve done it. Mikhail may have been a psychopath, but he was persuasive as all hell. Seduced people with enticing promises, had a way of making them buy in.”

“Maybe.”

Brandt knelt next to the corpse that had fallen in the rear lot. Unlike the other victims, this one had all extremities intact. A congealed pool of blood lay underneath the suspected fatal wound in the front of the neck. Since the corpse was face down, the wound wasn’t immediately visible. Brandt carefully turned the body over.

Jesus. The throat was ripped out by something blunt. Blunt but strong. And though the flesh had been torn, there were two distinct furrows at the top edge of the wound, like the instrument used contained two small blades or slender spikes. It wasn’t necessarily indicative of Brandt’s first thought, but he had a legitimate reason to consider… Fangs?

He said nothing.

Tom said, “I think they honestly just got pissed off, grabbed the guy around the throat, then squeezed. That drug will make you a lot stronger for a little while. It might have been enough to tear someone’s throat out.”

Brandt absently nodded as he eased the corpse back to its original position. Seeking speculative connections, he recalled the men he had killed a few months ago who had been juiced up on Mikhail’s elixir. The stuff gave humans the kind of strength and healing ability that only vampyres had. None of those men had fangs. And when he temporarily injected himself with a double dose of the same drug to fight them, he had no vampyric tendencies. Besides the strength and healing, the only other effects were just unbridled aggression and rage. He had no clue how many vampyres might exist in the world, despite being the most knowledgeable human on the subject. Mikhail was the only other vampyre Brandt had ever met besides Lia and her father.

“Got any different theories on this one?” asked Tom.

“Not yet,” said Brandt. Though he wasn’t lying, he wasn’t going to share speculations, especially dangerous ones. Even if he did want to share, you can’t just tell someone there might be vampyres running around without a hell of a lot of proof. A hell of a lot.

Tom said, “I have the crime scene photos if you wanna take them home.”

“Want? No. But should anyway.”

“Copies are in my car.”

The two men did one more round through the slaughter room, then went out to Tom’s car. He gave Brandt a folder with the photos in it.

“If anything strikes you, let me know. And if I get any new info, I’ll pass it along.”

“Roger Wilco.”

“So, how’s the missus?” asked Tom.

Brandt smiled. “Good. Her helicopter lands at Santa Paula in a couple hours. I can’t wait to pick her up. It’s been several days since she went back out to the island.”

“You two lovebirds still going strong?”

“Yep. She’s my world, Tom. It’s embarrassing, but when she’s not around I feel hollow.”

“Ahh, yeah. I remember those days. Don’t get me wrong, I love Faye, but we’ve gone from cuddling and holding hands to just being happily silent in the same room when we get a quiet minute – which ain’t often anymore. Quiet. God, I miss quiet.”

Tom had two teenage girls. He complained about them, but Brandt knew it was just a façade. Tom loved his girls beyond measure.

Lia had spent most of her life on a quiet island with no human voices around her. All she ever wanted was to listen to Brandt talk to her, or sing to her. He never understood how she could put up with his singing.

“Quiet is overrated, Tom,” said Brandt.

“Says the man with no kids,” said Tom.

He gave Brandt a quick wave, then started his car. As Tom maneuvered to head toward the gate, he lowered his window and leaned his head out.

“Kiss your lady for me,” said Tom.

I’ll kiss her for me. Brandt waved as Tom drove off, then got in his truck and headed out to the distant road.

He hadn’t been entirely accurate in his answer to Tom. Though he and Lia were still indeed going strong, there was something that had been weighing on his mind about her recent moods. In a couple of hours, he could hold her again and maybe it wouldn’t matter. When he held her, nothing else ever mattered.

Right now, something else did matter. Either another cartel was trying to mimic The Russian, or that old cartel was back up to speed. Regardless, they were sending gruesome advertisements to convince someone. And at least one of the cartel members might be a malevolent vampyre. The answer could be entirely different than his guess, but ignorance was dangerous. It was time to seriously consider the contingency plan.

He had toyed with a contingency plan for a while, though never really expecting to need it. But best to be prepared. Suddenly, that plan felt closer to necessity.

You’re being paranoid as usual.

No, I’m not. That throat wound wasn’t an illusion. And if there was a chance that Lia or Brandt was on someone’s vengeance list, then he’d rather be overly cautious than dead. The intense memory of Lia’s lifeless body strapped to a lab table, drained of all her blood for use in Mikhail’s elixir, was something he refused to ever let happen again. There was a guy he knew, another former Army sergeant like himself, who was running a personal security service. Brandt had the number somewhere. It couldn’t hurt to just call and talk to the guy.

Brandt checked the time on his phone. It was a little early to pick up Lia, but whatever. He pressed the gas pedal and got on the interstate heading up to Ventura.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

A figure in shadow stayed low and still as Dekker’s truck disappeared from the warehouse access road. The watcher knew he was too far away to be spotted, but took no risks. It was his profession to be unseen.

He packed up the binoculars and parabolic microphone, then opened a note pad. Scanning his scribbled notes twice, he was satisfied they were adequate for his report.

The assignment had been to set the stage, then confirm that the ball was in play. He required no further understanding of the plan. That was not his job.

Binoculars stowed and microphone case in hand, he began the hike back to his car.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

 

Brandt watched the helicopter descend from the ash grey sky. An overcast afternoon meant Lia would be more comfortable on the flight back from her island.

The pilot was another of Brandt’s former Army buddies who now ran tourist charters with his chopper, along with some side work on TV and film productions. For a family and friends rate, he ran Lia to and from Makal Island. For those trips, he would deck out the inside of his chopper with UV inhibiting curtains so Lia could still see out, yet wouldn’t be harmed by the sun’s rays. Everyone did their best to accommodate Lia’s unique condition. At least, the condition that everyone believed Lia had.

Brandt and Lia had done some research on severe diseases that involved a person’s skin being hypersensitive to the sun’s radiation. There were quite a lot of them actually, but they chose one called xeroderma pigmentosum, which seemed the most believably serious, and obscure enough that no one knew that Lia’s symptoms weren’t the same. Once Brandt rattled off the serious-sounding name of XP, explaining that it was a potentially fatal skin disease that did not allow Lia to be in the sun’s radiation, there were no more questions and people did their best to help. If only Lia’s need to drink blood could be explained as easily, things would be cake.

The helicopter touched down. Its curtains masked the passenger, but Brandt knew who was in there, and he was surprised that he was trembling in anticipation. He wouldn’t deny that he missed her, but he hadn’t understood that his need to hold her was like drug withdrawal. Maybe he was yearning to hold her because he knew once he got her in his arms, the world would melt away and problems would disappear. Are there really problems?

For weeks now, he had debated it. He didn’t think there was anything wrong between them, but there were little things in Lia’s mood swings that raised red flags in his mind. Firstly, she hadn’t pressed him to get married anytime soon. He assumed it was because she was old-fashioned and would expect the man to officially ask when the time was right. But they both knew they were getting married. The only thing left to wait for was the remainder of Lia’s possessions and animals to be transferred to their new ranch, and for legal affairs to be settled regarding Makal Island.

The little island was an unofficial and unmapped part of the California island chain, inaccessible from the sea with its steep cliffs and rocky base, and too far away from the mainland to be valuable as a home for anyone who didn’t want to be utterly isolated. That was exactly what Viktor had wanted. He had privately owned the island for nearly a century, and it had been Lia’s home for almost as long. Hidden from the world by sheer inconvenience. And that was why Brandt couldn’t live there and Lia had agreed to come to the mainland.

The State of California continued to push her to sell it, but her preference was to keep it just in case. Just in case of what? In case she changed her mind about marrying me? Lia acted like she was the happiest person on earth, and would say as much whenever asked. She loved Brandt. He loved her. They laughed, they played, they danced, they planned, they cuddled, they talked, they went out, they stayed in, and they made love like crazed rabbits. They lived as happy as any couple in any romance story. And yet, there were fleeting moments, almost imperceptible, when she was aloof. She wouldn’t meet his eye. She said everything was fine, but there was a touch of sorrow in her eyes. Brandt hoped it was something else. Maybe she just missed her father. For a hundred years, Viktor was all she had, and he had given her everything she could ever want as long as she stayed on the island, hiding from the danger that eventually found them both. Certainly, she might have sudden bouts of grief, random thoughts, or things that might trigger a remembrance, if that’s what was happening to her. But Brandt didn’t think these were the reasons. Something else was up. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was nothing, and maybe his all-too-easily paranoid brain was reading into things. He simply didn’t know. But it was always what he didn’t know that worried him.

The helicopter door slid open. A large German Shepherd bounded out and charged full steam at Brandt.

“Buck! Hey boy, come ‘ere,” called Brandt.

Brandt had bought Buck to be Lia’s shadow. Buck was a protector and companion, and a source for blood in a pinch. If he was ever needed for blood, he wouldn’t be harmed, as Lia never harmed the animals she drank from. The feeding process was found to be pleasant, and she never took very much from any one animal. So far, she hadn’t needed Buck in that capacity.

Buck raced to Brandt and slammed into his legs. The dog pressed himself so hard against Brandt’s knees that they buckled, and he lurched sideways to maintain his balance. Buck whined and yipped as Brandt rubbed his neck.

Lia stepped down from the helicopter. The memory of her beauty hadn’t faded during the extended absence, but nonetheless, his breath caught in his throat when he saw her. Her flawless cream-colored skin, combined with her pale golden hair, made her resemble an immortal elf queen. Albeit a more modernized one, wearing a white turtleneck blouse, tan skirt, black boots, and tan gloves. A wide-brimmed hat was her standard sun protection for her head, and the parasol held above her made doubly sure. Despite being completely covered everywhere she went, her pristine complexion, radiant manner, and bright smile turned heads. Flashing that brilliant smile, she waved at him.

His life and soul had been given to this woman. His Lia.

She quickened her stride toward Brandt. Brandt wanted to meet her halfway, but the dog was insistent on blocking the path. Brandt tried to side-step the dog, but Buck was allowing no escape from his demand for more petting. Lia laughed soundlessly when Brandt threw up his arms in surrender. She hurried the final few steps, crushed herself against his body, and wrapped her arms around his neck, somehow managing to not smack Brandt in the head with her parasol. As he held her, her feet left the ground. The effort of lifting Lia involved very little strain as she weighed about the same as a Beagle. Another one of the effects of being a vampyre, having very little water in her body. She ate greedily at his lips.

Oh, yes! God, he missed her. They kissed for several seconds before she pulled back for breath.

“Well, hello there,” said Brandt.

“Hello back,” she answered with a grin.

They released their grip on each other and she slid back to the ground. She maintained an arm around Brandt’s waist while the other propped the parasol above them both. The sweet smile she beamed up at him was the cure for any ailment. Whatever troubles or problems he had been killing himself over were forgotten in that moment. Staring into her luminous, ice-blue eyes had the effect of erasing the rest of the world to where only Lia existed. He was about to ask her how her flight was when she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She dug into him as if he tasted like chocolate.

Shrinking back in partial embarrassment, she said bashfully, “Sorry. I just missed you.”

He nuzzled her nose with his. “Understandable. I am pretty awesome.”

She gave him a crooked smirk. “Oh? Do you wish a rematch in the teasing competition?”

Brandt chuckled. “No, no, you won that fair and square. It’s your crown. I’m just your fool. A fool who loves you.”

“Good. It’ll take up too much of our time together to think of good teases. I’d much rather just have sex.”

Gee, do I gotta? Brandt patted her butt.

She clucked at Buck who fell dutifully in line as they all walked toward Brandt’s truck.

Back on the road, Lia sat primly in the passenger seat, while Buck had to be content with the back seat. He pushed his head over the center console as a compromise. Several drops of drool hit the console’s arm, and Tom’s envelope of photos caught a few splatters. Lia noticed and rescued them from further abuse.

“Are these important?” she asked.

“Just some crime scene photos from a case Tom has me working on.”

“Oh, good.” Lia must’ve realized that her comment could be misconstrued because she quickly added. “I mean, I’m glad you have a new case. You’re always happier when you are working.”

Brandt almost laughed aloud. When I’m working? He hadn’t stopped working since he killed a vampyre named Mikhail, then drove his yacht into Ventura Harbor to hand it over to the Coast Guard. When he wasn’t doing his consulting job, he was running around taking care of things to get Lia settled in their new home: He had researched it; found it; bought it; hired the right hands; fixed up the inside; got the furniture; moved the stuff that came from Lia’s island; contracted and helped the contractors fix up all the windows to make sure that the house had perfect UV protection, so no matter what room Lia was in, she was comfortable and safe; bought two cars; paid someone to create a fake birth certificate for Lia so she could get a driver license; and his coup de grace was the attic he had turned into Lia’s new professional-grade library and office. She still hadn’t seen that yet. Of course, she knew more or less about it, after all, she did read minds, but she hadn't seen it finished, and Brandt had pushed through the final touches on it while she was gone. She was going to be blown away. Or so he hoped. He wanted so much for her to be happy, and he thought he was accomplishing it, but it took work. So, yeah, he was definitely happiest when he was working.

“You know what I mean,” said Lia, probably sensing his mental eye roll. “I am quite aware of the incredible amount of work you’ve put into the house to get us settled here.”

Apology accepted. A coy smile escaped Lia’s lips as she patted his thigh with her gloved hand, but then, like a switch was flipped, her smile dampened a degree. There it is again. That little itch in Brandt’s mind that he couldn’t scratch. Lia leaned against the door and looked out the tinted window at the terrain streaking by.

Her emotions had always been mercurial, and though Brandt was used to the abrupt swings, they were still curious. He had never discovered whether they were a byproduct of vampyrism, or just some personal quirk. Regardless of the reason, Lia's feelings were rarely subtle, and usually unfiltered. She was undeniably a terrible liar. And that little drop from warm smile to tepid just felt wrong. Something was up.

Brandt really didn’t think Lia would change her mind about him, or about living with him on the mainland rather than her island. She had never wavered in her devotion to him, or her assertion that she was, in essence, his, and would rather die than lose him. But Brandt never understood why she adored him so much. In his opinion, he hadn’t earned her undying love, and believed she could have any man she wanted. So, whenever he made decisions regarding their future or spending her money, he always did it with flexibility in case there was the slightest possibility that she may need to back out. Everything remained hers, and only hers, so he wouldn’t have a claim on any assets to pull the metaphoric rug out from under her. The prime example was the house. He bought it with her money (formally Viktor’s money, since Lia’s father had kept millions from his days in the aristocracy), and it was titled to her and only her. Her house. Yes, they would both live in it for the foreseeable future of their marriage, and physically share all the things her money bought, but legally everything would remain hers. It was the least he could do to assure that Lia never got trapped. She had been shackled to that island for nearly a century, in part because of Mikhail, and in part from fear of being discovered by the cruel, ignorant public. And though she stoically accepted her fate, Brandt never wanted her to feel trapped again. Even with him. If something bad happened, or she just wasn’t ready, or may not want him anymore, he wanted her to be free to do whatever was necessary for her survival and happiness. She had assured him she wasn’t going to change her mind, and Brandt believed her, but there was still the tiniest seed of uncertainty. And a moment ago, when her warm smile suddenly cooled, that little nagging doubt crept back. Brandt couldn’t shake it.

He knew he had a history of being paranoid. Except that, a few months ago, most of his paranoid worries had come true.

Ok, bad example.

Brandt’s truck halted in front of the iron gates that marked the entrance to their Ventura ranch. A chain-driven mechanism behind the concrete stanchions slowly rotated the heavy gates inward until there was enough room to pass through. Straight ahead was the house, appearing small in the distance.

The property was formerly owned by a celebrity who had renovated the place with high concrete walls, heavy iron gates, and other security measures for privacy and safety. It was a boxy house, deceptively large, with five bedrooms on the ground floor, and one huge second-story room over the living area. The house was built in the sixties, but was well maintained, and looked new enough with a clean, brown brick exterior and a stucco upper floor. An overhanging shade over each window made sure the sun never directly beamed through any of them. Each pane of glass had technologically advanced UV protection that kept Lia comfortable in any room of the house, yet still let in ample light. There was even a special basement room that had no windows at all, completely blacked out just in case Lia ever needed absolute darkness to heal or recover from something. The ranch was primarily flat ground, sloping gently on the northern edge, with lots of big trees to offer shade, and was nestled in the valley of foothills. There were several structures for Lia’s animals, including horse stalls, plus three horses that came with the ranch. Lia’s chickens were already settled in their coop. Her goats and sheep were the final holdouts, but that was one of the reasons Lia had gone to the island, to help usher them aboard a cargo ship that would sail them here, along with the last few items of furniture and accessories from her island house. Everything was so close to being done.

They parked the truck near the kitchen door. Lia and Buck hopped out and went in the house. Brandt followed, almost forgetting his photo envelope, went back to the truck to get it, then brought it into the kitchen. Lia went into the bedroom and dropped off her bag, her hat, her gloves, and pretty much everything except her blouse and skirt. She came out and actually twirled around like she was in a musical.

“So nice to be home,” she said, eyes closed.

Always nice to hear that.

Buck apparently agreed. He hopped into his customary spot on the couch and surveyed the living room. The dog probably had a good time herding the goats and sheep around on the island, but Buck was a homebody and enjoyed lazing on the couch when he wasn’t patrolling the farm grounds.

Brandt came up behind Lia and enveloped her in his arms. She leaned against him. “It’s good to have you home,” said Brandt. “I missed you.”

She massaged his forearm with her fingertips while swaying in his embrace.

“Is everything shut down on the island?” he asked.

“For the most part. I will need one final trip, but that doesn’t need to be anytime soon.”

“Good,” he said.

She hadn’t stopped swaying or caressing his arm, but there was that little tell again. A small straightening of her posture, a little hesitation of her movements.

You are so damned paranoid, dude. She loves you. Get it through your head.

Buck interrupted Brandt’s inner dialogue by smacking the doggie door open and heading outside. Perhaps he decided to forego his nap and instead do a patrol of the grounds.

“I’ve got something to show you,” said Brandt.

She patted his hand. “I know.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen it.” He turned her around to give her a game show host grin. “It’s finally ready. Come on, let me show you.”

He led her up the stairs until they got to a wooden landing. The landing had always been there, but he had enhanced it with decorative railing and new wall sconces, reminiscent of the kind in her island house. They stopped in front of what was formerly a bland, single door to the loft, now upgraded to carved, oaken double doors.

“You deserved another room like your sanctum sanctorum on the island,” said Brandt. He opened the big doors to her new library.

The loft had been redone in lacquered cherry wood, vaulted ceilings, and a network of shelving to display all of Lia’s books. She had enough books to fill a town library, and her island library was the size of a chapel, so a combination of wall shelves and standing shelves were needed to cover the enormous volume. The ornate rug in the center was brought from her island house, as well as several round oak tables. At the other end of the room, a double door with panes of stained glass, treated with the same UV protection as the rest of the house, led to a balcony that had an excellent view of the estate. The doors were designed to resemble the tall, church-style, stained glass windows she had in her island library. There was no way to exactly duplicate that island library, so this was as close as he could get. The contractors did an amazing job, and the whole room exemplified the kind of taste and charm that Viktor had built for Lia on the island. Viktor had understood how much Lia’s books meant to her, with no other being to talk to, the books talked to her. They were part of her soul, and she was not whole without them.

In the middle of the room was Brandt’s biggest surprise. Custom designed to Lia’s body size, it was a mahogany desk, with raised relief carvings in each panel, topped by a Tiffany lamp and various scented candles. It was a legitimate writer’s desk for a legitimate writer. And though she would dismiss the accolades, Lia was now a popular author.

She wrote romance novels in a classic style. More Jane Austen than E.L. James, but with the occasional, discreet sex scene inserted here and there. Her very first book was a retelling of her own life, minus the vampyre stuff, and had a male love interest that was suspiciously similar to Brandt. The real couple’s very first time making love, a wanton, lust-filled night, was turned into a much more gentle, discreet affair for the book, and the bloody battle against Mikhail was amended to be a respectable gentleman’s duel, but the rest of the book had a lot of similarities, though Lia didn’t like to acknowledge it: A lonely girl on a secluded island meets a shipwrecked soldier with Brandt’s same short tousled hair and chiseled abs; he’s running from his past, she’s hiding from hers; and there’s a bad guy who wants the girl for himself, and the soldier dead. Just a coincidence if you ask Lia. Perhaps as a distinguishing factor, she had set the time period in the Victorian age, and made their love affair scandalous.

When the book sold well, the publisher wanted more. They gave her an advance to write another book, and so she was now officially a professional writer. All her life, she had admired authors, the mystical deities who filled her library with stories that captured her soul, and now she was one of them. A lot of her writing had been done at the kitchen table, even though there was a downstairs room set aside for an office. She just preferred to be around Brandt if he was home. So, Brandt made sure to include a soft couch and comfy chair, across from her new desk, where he could sit and work, or relax, while she wrote. He wanted her to have everything she dreamed of, including his presence.

Lia stepped into the room, each foot placed delicately like she was afraid of disturbing an unseen entity. Her hands never left her face. She swiveled as she walked, absorbing every detail about her new sanctum, her eyes wide with amazement. Of course, she had known Brandt was doing this, but perhaps she hadn’t understood the measures he had taken to turn an attic-style loft into a home within a home, a refuge that surrounded her with everything she loved.

Her hand returned to her face.

“Please tell me you like it,” said Brandt.

She made a single nod, seeming unable to do more.

“I wanted it to be more than just your new office and library," said Brandt. “I wanted it to be a place you could truly feel like yourself and get away from distractions, unless you just want the distractions. And when you want me around, that’s why I put that couch and chair there. I can work on my laptop while you write, and you don’t have to work at the kitchen table just to have me nearby. You won’t have to come to me anymore, sweetie, I’ll come to you. And maybe someday, it’ll be a good place for the kids to do their homework, so they can be around both of us too.”

She turned her back to him and took a step toward the stained glass doors. Placing a palm against the glass, she stood ghostly still, a dark silhouette against the colored light.

Brandt continued. “You once told me your soul was in your books, and I wanted your soul to be comfortable here in this house with me. To be truly happy.”

Lia remained motionless, saying nothing.

“Sweetie? Did I do ok?” asked Brandt, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. "I took my best guess on your book organizing system. I know you'll probably need to rearrange it, but hopefully, it's not too hard to fix. Honey? Please tell me you like it.”

Lia took a deep breath. Her back remained to him and her shoulders seemed to be trembling. She finally said, softly, “I love it. I love everything you did. And I love you.”

“Good. I was worried I screwed it up somehow. Come ‘ere. Can I have a hug?”

She turned slowly. Her eyes were lowered and she was softly crying. They were not tears of joy.

CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

 

Brandt squinted in confusion. “Lia?”

She rubbed her sleeve across her damp cheeks. When her eyes finally met his, Brandt shivered. In their depths was something he hadn’t seen since the very first time he held her on the island. The painful memory of those sorrowful eyes was burned into his brain, her desperation to tell him something, her anxiety on what would happen when she did, just before the premature reveal of her vampyre affliction. Now, here was that same look again. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” asked Brandt. “Have you changed your mind? Are you afraid to move away from the island?”

She shook her head.

Brandt persisted. “Then, what is it? You know you can tell me anything.” He patted the cushion with his palm.

She hesitantly sat down on the couch next to him, allowing Brandt to put his arm around her, but she didn’t lean in. Her eyes remained focused on the floor.

Brandt tried to press himself closer and said, “Honey, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

His anxiety was making his stomach churn. Was it him? What’d I do wrong?

Lia’s trembling didn’t subside even with his arm around her. In a small voice, she said, “Please understand that I love you so terribly much.”

“I love you too.”

Her trembling grew in magnitude. “And I know you wish to have children. And I would like children too.”

“Ok.” His response sounded like a question. He knew she was just delaying the shoe drop.

Her hands clenched together and her nails bit into the back of each hand. “But I am barren.” She closed her eyes to wait for his response.

He wanted to exhale in relief that it wasn’t something he had done, but that wasn’t the point was it? Self-absorbed paranoia had made this moment so much more awkward than it needed to be. “Oh, sweetie– I’m so sorry. That’s what’s been bothering you?”

She nodded, eyelids fluttering open and closed. He pulled her shoulders toward him, and this time she let herself be pulled. Her tears came copiously.

The “children” issue had been discussed before. They both wanted kids, but Lia had been concerned and Brandt understood why. Or so he had thought. The kids might be born vampyres. And if people found out, the kids might be shunned by society, seized by the government, persecuted, or some other terrible thing. And even if they managed to keep their secret, what kind of a life would they lead in constant fear of being discovered? Yet, there was no precedent of what kind of kids a human and a vampyre may produce. Old rumors and inconsistent stories dated back hundreds of years, but nothing concrete. Lia said she would do some research and experiments to find out, but every time he asked how it was going, she just said she didn’t have an answer yet, and the subject was dropped. Brandt assured her that biological kids weren’t their only option, adoption was perfectly fine by him. Lia had smiled at that, but hadn’t discussed it further. He just assumed she needed time to consider everything.

“I have been afraid to tell you,” she said, her voice steady despite the sobbing. “I have known for some time, but was trying to find a way to change it. I don’t think there is a way.”

He held her tighter and she placed her arms around him, but didn’t match his pull. Her shoulders and chest heaved and bucked with full-fledged crying.

“Sweetheart, it’s ok,” he said soothingly. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to – me,” she stammered between sharply drawn breaths. “It matters that I – cannot be a – proper wife to you. I cannot give – you children. I cannot be the – woman you deserve.”

“Oh, dear God. Lia, you are far more woman than I ever deserve. And we can adopt children. It’s done every day. In fact, it might be better. We never did find out if our kids would be vampyres or humans. I’m fine with adopting. My father was adopted.”

Lia tilted her chin up. “Your f – father? Really?”

“Yes. His mother was barren too. And they loved him as much, if not more than, any parent loved a child. There are so many babies out there being given up every day, and they need loving parents. And I can think of no one more loving than you. You’d make a great mom.”

The corners of Lia’s mouth struggled to smile. Her crying downshifted to sniffling as she lifted her head off his shoulder to look into his eyes. Though Lia could sense his thoughts, she had promised to refrain from doing so under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances, and Brandt was hoping she could sense his sincerity.

“You would – still – want me?” she said haltingly between sniffles.

“Yes! God, yes, of course I do.”

“I could – still be – a mother?”

“Absolutely. We could have as many kids as you like. We could have a pack of ‘em. Like our own army.”

Lia was close to hyperventilating from anxiety and tears. She seemed to get hold of herself, calm enough to speak clearly.

“I don’t know how to feel,” she finally said. “When I was young and understood the world, a married woman had a defined place. And that place was to manage the home, care for her husband, and bear his heirs. I know the world has changed, but biology hasn’t. A woman’s womb has the sole purpose of bearing children. And if that purpose is gone, what kind of wife can she be?”

“I don’t think your analogy is accurate anymore. You may be from an older world, but you’re living in this one, and in this world, there are no defined roles for wives. Women and men can be whatever they want to be. Marriage is an equal partnership. There is no stipulation for a marriage other than both partners love and support each other. That’s it. It doesn’t matter who makes the money, and it doesn’t matter who cooks, or cleans, or takes care of the kids. All that matters is that they love each other. And I love you.”

“You would accept me even though I cannot bear your children?”

“Yes, silly,” he said, using her typical euphemism for admonishment. “You’re a vampyre and I love you. You can’t stay in the sun and I love you. You suck blood from animals’ necks, and you’ll outlive me, and I’m going to have to fight off every man who falls in love with you for the rest of my old decrepit life, and I love you. And now you’re barren, and guess what? I love you. I love every inch of you, inside and out, everything you are, and will ever be. And there is no excuse you can give me that would make me not want you to be my wife. So get that through your pretty little stubborn head. If you decide you just don’t love me anymore, then that’s a good reason not to marry me. But otherwise – this is happening, sister. Ok?”

Lia’s eyes were wide enough to be seen from space. In most instances, her emotions weren’t easily hidden, and at that moment, they were in an all too evident battle between anxiety and joy. Her eyes searched his, perhaps for some evidence that he was only telling her what she wanted to hear. He stared back unflinching. She finally nodded her head slowly, the smile relaxing on her lips as well as the tension easing on her face.

Brandt let out a huge, held breath. “Finally. So, it’s settled? We’re all good? No more roadblocks? We can get married now?”

Her nod and smile grew bigger. She bent forward to kiss him and then stopped. She pulled back like she’d been bitten. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes flared to the size of grapefruit.

“What?” he asked. “What now?”

Lia’s mercurial emotions didn’t always conform to reason. Whatever feeling that hit her would typically seize her and she had little control of the magnitude. She shook her head rapidly, looking even more anxious than she did before she revealed that she was barren.

“Lia, no more excuses. Let’s not…”

She shook her head more emphatically, then waved her hands to signify that whatever he was thinking the problem was, was not the problem. He was so confused. She started to nod slowly, deliberately, and held one hand out, circling it around, undulating the fingers up and down like she was trying to coax an animal out of its pen. We’re doing charades now?

Brandt sighed. “Sweetie, please just tell me. My brain is fried.”

But Lia wasn’t talking. She just continued the strange gesture, beseeching him to do something. Looking positively frantic, she tried to mouth silent words. He didn’t catch them. Huh? She mouthed it again and pointed to his knee.

It suddenly struck him. Ohhhhh. “Aw, honey. You’re gonna make me do the whole bit?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“But I don’t even have a ring to give you,” he said. “I have my mother’s old one, but that’s in storage. Let’s wait until I can…”

She waved her hands “No” furiously. No more excuses. Your own words, right? He blew out a lip-warbling breath. Ok, then. Here goes. Grasping her hand, he lowered himself to one knee. She shivered in excitement.

Bowing his head, attempting a serious expression, he started. “Lia, my love. Since the day I saw you, I knew I was in love with you. I didn’t think I deserved love, and I tried to deny it, but I couldn’t. Every moment, every minute I was with you…”

As he continued to speak, he noticed Lia’s feverish anticipation. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hands shaking, her teeth grinding. If he went on with his long, flowery speech, she might explode right in front of him, leaving a Lia-sized scorch mark on the rug. At first, he liked the idea of the torturously long buildup to make her wait as retribution for putting him through another antiquated formality on a subject he thought was already decided, and because withholding her confession of being barren caused him to worry she might be having second thoughts. But he couldn’t do that to her. Skip to the good part, bud.

He took both her hands. Lia was holding her breath. “Natalia Viktorovna Zakharyina, I would be…”

“Lia,” she blurted out.

“Hmm?”

“I wish to be only Lia from now on,” she said hurriedly, like an ad disclaimer. If Brandt expected an explanation for the request, one wasn’t coming. She went silent again, lips pinned under teeth, still quivering from expectancy.

“Ohhh-kay. Lia. I would be the happiest man on this earth if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Lia, will you marry m…”

“Yes!” she squealed, then leaped on top of him. She may be as light as a lapdog, but she was also unnaturally strong and flattened him to the floor. “Yes,” she said again, then kissed him with a bird-like peck. “Yes,” she pecked him again. “Yes.” And pecked him again.

“If you need time to decide, I’ll…”

She smothered his mouth with her hand to stifle the tease. “Yes,” she said.

“Yes, you need time, or yes, you’ll marry me?” he mumbled under her fingers.

She pinched him.

“Ow!”

She buried her face into his and kissed him so deeply he forgot to breathe. She pulled her lips back and softly breathed onto his lips. “Yessssss.”

Brandt stared into the depths of her electric blue eyes, which stared back at him as if no other man existed in the world. The first time he ever saw her, he thought, I could get lost in those eyes. And now he was going to get lost in them for the rest of his life. He was engaged to be married. And he was happy.

 

 

 

Brandt’s happiness was compounded when they made love that night, passionate and sweet. Lia claimed it was official engagement sex. When he asked if that was another old custom, she told him it was now. Lia was still charged up afterward and Brandt was willing to oblige for another round, but Lia smiled and told him he needed his rest. So he followed that directive instead and fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning he found that she probably never slept. Instead, she had cleaned, wrote, sewed something, and otherwise bounced around the house while he slumbered. Her head had stayed on his chest until he fell asleep, but she had apparently gotten up afterward and hadn’t come back.

As he lifted his head from the pillow, she bounded into the room and slid next to him. A comically sloppy kiss was planted on him. “Good morning, husband to be!” she said in a way too excitable tone for Brandt’s sleep-fuzzy mind.

He smacked his crusted lips together. “Hi. Good morning.”

She lay down on top of him, the covers pinned between them, and stretched for another kiss.

“Wait, sweetie. I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he said.

“I don’t care.” She gave him another lip smack. Her hips playfully rubbed against his through the covers, then she popped back up and sat on the edge of the bed.

“When can we get married?” she asked. Her expression looked like a kid who had been promised Disneyland and had already packed the car while the parents slept.

“Umm. I don’t know. Whenever you like, I suppose.” He hadn’t delved deeply into the thought, expecting that would be Lia’s thing. In his experience, brides-to-be had very specific plans concerning times and places.

“Can we do it today?” she asked.

“Well, wait a sec, hon. It depends on what kind of wedding you want. If you want a big affair in a cathedral, with lots of guests and flowers and food and things, then it will require months to plan.”

Lia’s radiant expression dimmed.

Brandt continued. “But, on the other hand, if you only want something small, who knows? Some folks go to Vegas and get hitched in a day, or some folks don’t bother with any ceremony at all and just do it at the courthouse. But that’s so bland. Really, it’s just up to you. However you want to do it.”

“I want to do it today!” she clapped her hands together and beamed a hopeful look.

“You sure? Weddings are made for ladies to show off how beautiful they are, and how lucky the guy is. Courthouse weddings are so lame. You sign some papers, then a sweaty guy behind a laminate counter says you’re married. And that’s it. It’s about as glamorous as brushing your teeth. Speaking of which –.” Brandt got up, kissed the top of Lia’s head, and went to the bathroom.

Lia smiled, but it was obvious she was disappointed. Brandt thought it was because she didn’t understand the time involved in planning.

“I will understand if you wish to plan something,” she said. “But I don’t care about the scope or glamour. I have no friends, so there is no one to show off to, even if I wished it, which I do not. All I want is you. And to be Mrs. Dekker.”

Brandt finished his teeth and toweled off.

Lia came into the bathroom and hugged him from behind. “I wish to be Lia Dekker as soon as possible.”

He “guffed” a short, nasal laugh and hugged her arms with his. “Sweetie, I would absolutely love that, but to be fair, I should probably clarify some things about this modern world.” She loosened her hug as he turned to face her. He met her eyes and said, “Married women nowadays have a choice. You don’t have to take the man’s name anymore. You can keep your own. I know your father’s name is royal and important, so I would understand completely. Or some women like to hyphenate. Or you can take the husband’s name if you…”

“Lia Dekker!” she said insistently. “I will have no excuses from you. I will be your wife and will carry your name proudly.”

He tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help a throat chuckle. “Honey, there is nothing you can do that I wouldn’t be proud of, especially carrying my name.”

“Mrs. Lia Dekker,” she repeated. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, daring him to challenge the declaration.

“Mrs. Lia Viktorovna Dekker?” he coached.

“Agreed,” she said, then pecked him on the lips. “Today.”

His chuckle grew. “We can sign the documents today, but you deserve at least something other than a courthouse handshake.”

Lia intensified her challenging stare.

“Ok, just hear me out,” he said. “There are all sorts of ways we can get married in a day, but they might require at least an appointment, or travel time, or something. We could find a little justice of the peace at some little quaint chapel in the mountains, or take a cruise and have the captain marry us on board, or…”

Lia brightened. “A captain can marry us? Let’s do that!”

“A ship wedding?” He nodded. “That kinda fits. Ok, we can do that. Just let me do some looking and find us a cruise.”

She shook her head. Suddenly she had a plan. “No. We will take your boat to Catalina and we will have a ship captain there marry us. And we will honeymoon in the same hotel we first made love.” Lia looked exceptionally pleased with her plan.

Brandt wasn’t getting by that stare of hers. And he didn’t mind. “Ok. But I don’t think we can get there and do all this today. It takes time to get the papers drawn up and signed. We have to get all our vital documents together, wait at the courthouse for someone to help us, and then drive back out to the pier, and then hours to get to Catalina, and we’d have to find a captain willing to do it. If they even can. I’m not sure how it works.” Lia’s stare wasn’t budging. Brandt gave her a gentle kiss. “How about we sign the papers today, and finish the ceremony first thing tomorrow on Catalina?”

“Tomorrow, I will be Lia Dekker?”

“Tomorrow, I promise.”

She flung herself into his arms. “You got a deal, sister,” she said, misusing one of his colloquialisms.

He laughed unrestrainedly. “God, I love you.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

Stuck is good. I like stuck.

CHAPTER 4

 

 

 

 

Brandt tucked the boat into its slip at the Catalina harbor. It was a big Chris Craft that used to be the launch from Mikhail’s yacht. The government, specifically Tom, had given it to Brandt as a reward for killing The Russian and delivering the yacht to the Coast Guard. In turn, Brandt had used it as his residence while Lia was still on Makal Island. Once they became comfortable with being a couple, and Lia got to visit the mainland of California, she was intrigued with the idea of living among humans again. The ranch became their primary residence and the boat became less important, though still useful for things like this.

Lia held Brandt’s hand and skipped as they walked. With her usual fairy-like glide, and the parasol bobbing above her, her skipping resembled parasailing. She was levitating both physically and mentally. It was her wedding day. Brandt was concerned she might pass out using up all her energy in joyful anticipation, but for the moment, her cheeks were glowing pink and radiant with vitality. She had probably fed from one of the horses before they left Ventura, preparing herself for a day of vows and a night of passion.

They checked into a different hotel than the last time they were here. Lia wanted the same one, but they had broken the bed in that hotel, and Brandt was concerned the hotel may have issue with them if they returned. In this new hotel, they got the bridal suite with a beautiful view of the pool. It never failed. If you wanted an ocean view, pool view was all that was left, and vice versa. The last time they were here, Lia was gung ho for swimming in the pool since she had never done it before. Five minutes of wading in the shallow end and she had had enough. The reality of swimming wasn’t as fantastic as her dreams. She had been scared to death of drowning since vampyres don’t float, and nothing Brandt could say would mollify her. So, they had gone up to the room and had marathon sex instead. Decent trade-off.

Lia had her wedding dress and makeup in her bag and wanted to go up to the room to start preparing. Brandt gave her the key and told her he had arrangements to make around the island. She gave him a peck on his nose and skip-floated toward the elevator.

Brandt wandered over to the concierge desk. The guy behind the desk looked up and smiled brightly. His nametag read, “Nathan.”

“Yes, sir. Good afternoon! How may I help you?” said the chipper concierge.

“Hi, Nathan. I have some requests if you don’t mind. My fiancé and I are getting married in a couple hours and I want to do something special to our room once she’s finished dressing.”

“Certainly, sir! And congratulations.”

“Thank you. Here’s a list of what I was thinking. Money is no object.”

Brandt handed the man a piece of paper. Nathan read it and smiled. “Not a problem. And very romantic if I may say so.”

“Thanks. And I have another question. I’m looking for someone willing to do a shipboard wedding. She wants a ship’s captain to do it. But I hadn’t found any so far that either can or are willing. I kinda promised her it was already arranged. Can you help me?”

The concierge rubbed his thumb and finger against his chin. “Oh, dear. There was a cruise ship captain here two days ago, but they’ve gone. The only ships in port are private or commercial charters. And most of those men aren’t licensed for weddings. It’s the slow season, I’m afraid.”

Brandt had found out from last-second research that not any ol’ ship captain can marry people. Only some held a license to do it, and usually those were the big cruise ship captains. He chagrined and put his hands on his hips.

“Shit. I already gave her a time, so I’ve only got two hours to figure this out.” said Brandt, angry at himself for not doing more before they got to the island. He figured there had to be some captain somewhere on this big island that could do it.

The concierge stood and reached out a hand to place on Brandt’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, sir,” he said. “Your lady will get the wedding she wants and on time. You’ve got my unequivocal promise.” The concierge winked at Brandt and snapped his fingers. “I’ve got some ideas.”

 

 

 

The little golf cart raced up a cobblestone road, bouncing its occupants in their seats. It skidded to a stop in front of a little wooden building. The exterior used to be sea moss green, but had faded to greenish-grey. The shingle out front read, “Father Vestor’s Chapel of Bliss.”

It’ll be bliss if this guy will do it.

“Third time’s the charm?” said Nathan.

“I think this is the fifth,” said Brandt, his mood sinking darker than it had been an hour ago.

“Positive thoughts,” said the perky concierge.

I’ll positively be surprised if I survive this.

The two men went inside and were immediately greeted by an all too happy middle-aged man in a sky-blue suit. His tie looked like it was made from Hawaiian shirt material.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” said the minister. “Nathan, so nice to see you. And the handsome gentleman with you. Are we looking for a wedding package today?”

“So to speak. A kinda unconventional one,” said Brandt, shooting a hopeful glance sideways at Nathan, who nodded his reassurance.

The minister cracked a goofy smile. “Oh, have no fear, sir. I’ve done this plenty of times before.”

“Maybe not quite what we’re going to ask you to do,” said Brandt.

“Gentlemen,” said the minister. He placed a hand on each of their arms. “Gay weddings are perfectly legal in this state and I adore doing them.”

Brandt’s eyes flew open. He looked at Nathan who blushed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, no, Father. That’s not why we’re here,” said Nathan calmly. “This man is getting married to a lovely lady.”

“Oh, please excuse me!” said the minister, abashed. “I’m so sorry, sir. Mr…?” The minister pinched his brows as a silent plea to ask Brandt’s name.

“Brandt,” said Brandt.

“Mr. Brandt. What can I do for you and your beautiful bride?” asked Father Vestor.

“No, Dekker. I mean Brandt De… never mind.” Brandt was about to launch into the unconventional request when Nathan held up a hand.

“Father, do you remember the wedding you performed a year ago on that diving boat?” asked Nathan.

“Diving boat?” It took a couple of seconds before Father Vestor beamed, “Ah, yes! The snorkeling couple. Goodness, that was a strange one. What about it?”

Nathan grinned. “Well, I have in mind something similar for this gentleman.”

Before Nathan could continue, Father Vestor exclaimed, “Oh, my.”

Nathan waved a placating hand. “This one will be far easier. You won’t have to snorkel, and you won’t have to wear an Elvis costume.”

“Thank heavens.”

“But you will be impersonating someone,” said Nathan.

“I see. Who?”

“A ship’s captain.”

“Oh?” Vestor put his hand on his chin and considered. “I certainly don’t mind, but I have no captain’s outfit. I only had the Elvis one because I used it for Halloween.”

Nathan smiled conspiratorially. “Leave that to me. I have a key to the wardrobe of the theater. There are several sailing outfits in there. I’ll apologize to the stage manager later.” Nathan’s smile became a little awkward when he said that. “All you have to do is put it on and show up. And act like a captain.”

Vestor nodded, but then looked a little uncertain. “How does a captain act?”

Nathan shrugged.

Brandt said, “I guess, think of ones in movies. You know, confident, in charge, and all that.”

Vestor shrugged too, then nodded. “Alright, then. It’s certainly slow here, so I’m free anytime today.”

“In one hour from now, please be at…” started Nathan. Nathan turned to Brandt. “Where will it be held?”

Brandt swallowed. “Shit.”

 

 

 

An hour later, with the sun hiding behind the Catalina peaks, Brandt was in a tuxedo standing on the deck of someone’s yacht. He took a deep cleansing breath, trying to drown his sense of panic. Lia was about to make her entrance any minute. Brandt took one more moment to look around and see if his situation had magically improved.

The yacht they were on was a private boat owned by a software magnate: a middle-aged, crass, and extremely large man. With him were three bathing beauties he had coaxed on board, whose combined IQ wouldn’t match any one of their chest measurements. All three of them bounced and giggled as they waited for Lia to arrive. The yacht’s owner, named Vaughn Pelletier, allowed Brandt to borrow the yacht for the wedding with two stipulations: One, Brandt pay Vaughn one thousand dollars; and two, Vaughn be allowed to give the bride a kiss. Considering there was no one else to give away the bride, Mr. Pelletier was given the honors as long as the kiss was on the cheek. Brandt gave the man a hard stare to make sure there was no misinterpretation. Vaughn laughed away the challenge and slapped Brandt on the back with a meaty palm.

In front of Brandt were several rows of chairs supplied by the hotel. Two dozen tourists, who were happy to be a part of a show (and were promised an open bar reception at the hotel), sat in the chairs waiting for the bride’s entrance. Several bystanders stood on the dock thinking a movie was being filmed.

To Brandt’s right was a cute little girl who had wanted to meet Brandt. She was curious about what was happening on the yacht, and she thought Brandt was Clint Eastwood. Brandt accepted the compliment, although Eastwood was considerably older, and asked if the girl wanted a part in the wedding. Her parents allowed it, so little Chelsea became the maid of honor.

To Brandt’s left was Nathan. Discounting Brandt, Nathan was the most invested in the proceedings, and was proud to be the best man.

Behind Brandt stood Father Vestor. He wore a blue double-breasted blazer that sported two full rows of gold buttons, five rows of made-up service ribbons, several hanging medals, and two gold epaulets. His pants were stark white with gold piping, and his cap was the stereotypical captain’s hat, complete with gold leaves and anchor badge. He clenched a pipe in his mouth. Brandt had told Vestor that the pipe was too much (the whole outfit was too much), but Vestor waved it off and said that it helped him get into character. Vestor looked like a cross between Napoleon and Captain Ahab. Brandt rolled his eyes and hoped to hell Lia wouldn’t know the difference.

I am so freaking dead.

Suddenly the three bikini bimbos jumped up and started clapping. Lia was walking down the aisle.

As had happened the other day when she had emerged from the helicopter, his breath caught in his throat. Her white dress flowed behind her as she glided. It had been her mother’s. There were no baubles or lace, it was just a simple fitted gown, shoulderless and sleek. It contoured to her slim athletic figure to just below her hips, then spread out into a fan. Her face was obscured by the traditional veil, but her smile was still bright enough underneath it for Brandt to see clearly.

His Lia. Though I don’t deserve her.

But God had given her to him anyway. And he to her. The relationship between Brandt and God had been conflicted (at best) until the day Brandt was able to destroy Mikhail and save Lia from being turned undead. It seemed God had a plan for Brandt all along, and here it was. Hopefully.

With a circus freak wedding.

Vaughn walked beside Lia. His Hawaiian shirt was tucked into his cargo pants, his girth rolling over his waistband. His flip-flops popped down the aisle. Brandt wanted to slap a palm over his own face. Lia glanced around at all the tourists who were watching her and snapping pictures. She shrugged shyly. Brandt knew she didn’t see things the same way he did, even when looking at what he thought was obvious. What she would see here was that she was about to be married to the man she loved, on a boat like she wanted, by a ship’s captain like she asked. He hoped.

Brandt let out his held breath.

Lia was led in front of Brandt. Vaughn lifted up the veil and grinned like a man who was about to get his reward. Brandt tensed. Before Vaughn could do anything, Lia gleefully reached out and gave the man a very sweet kiss on his cheek. She stroked a hand on that cheek as she pulled back, making sure she ended up a full step away. Vaughn bit his lip, then smiled reluctantly.

You read his mind, didn’t you? That’s my girl.

She took her place next to Brandt and stared deeply into his eyes. Her beautiful smile was bright enough to illuminate the rest of the deck, even though the tiki torches were doing an adequate job.

Father Vestor cleared his throat and lifted his ministerial speech book. Brandt barely noticed. He was lost in Lia’s eyes again. It was so easy to do when she was looking at him. The first of many blushes to come bloomed on Lia’s cheeks. He knew how easily she blushed and was surprised it took this long for the first one. She mouthed words at Brandt. It took a second for Brandt to translate:

“Thank you.”

He had brewed up a wedding that should be an episode on a sit-com, and his bride was thanking him. But he knew that’s probably not how she saw it. She was having a wedding in her mother’s dress and was about to commit herself to a man who vowed to die for her, and had already killed for her. It might be enough for Lia.

And then Vestor spoke.

“Arrrr. Me lads, lasses, and mateys. We be gathered here today to join these two in hoooly matrimooony. Arrr.”

Oh – my – GOD! He thinks captains talk like pirates? Maybe Lia wouldn’t notice.

Lia shot her eyes to Vestor, stiffened, and then looked at Brandt.

I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

Lia pinched her shoulders in laughter, but kept her lips tight and covered them with one hand. She whispered, “I love this.” She wasn’t mad? She was actually amused?

God? Buddy, I owe you big.

Vestor swizzled the pipe around in his mouth and continued. “Arrr. Do ye have the rings?”

Five minutes of ring exchange (Brandt had found his parents’ rings like he promised), a few phrases of flowery speech by Vestor, still done in pirate voice, and then they came to the vows.

Brandt was first. He had written and trashed several versions of his vows, but in the end, he just thought he’d say what was in his heart. It was a consistent trait that tended to get him into trouble, but it was also very much him. Lia knew him as well as he did himself, and she would expect him to wing it. He breathed in deeply and started:

“I came to you a lost man. My life meant nothing to me. I could think of nothing and no one that mattered, except the lost lives of my Army brethren I had blamed myself for. All I wanted was to earn the second chance of life I was given. I had no idea that second chance would lead me to you. You saved me. You saved my soul. You gave me the reason to live that I didn’t believe I deserved, and love that I only dreamed was possible. And now all I want to do is give you my life, my heart, my soul, to keep you happy and safe until the day I die. You are the greatest, most wonderful thing I have ever known, and I treasure the chance to be your husband, and spend the rest of my days making you happy. There is nothing on earth or heaven that can keep me from your side. My love for you is more powerful than any man, beast, demon, or god that might seek to separate us. I am yours entirely, and eternally.”

The tourists “Ooo’d” and “Aww’d,” and the bimbos clapped quietly, bouncing on their toes.

Everyone looked at Lia. It was her turn, but she was frozen. She was staring at Brandt, unblinking, her eyes watering, her mouth quivering. Her expression was a wrestling match between ecstasy and crying, flickering like it may explode.

Brandt tilted his head down a degree. He mouthed, “Honey? It’s your turn.”

There was that same wild hunger in her eyes that he had seen the first time they had made love. It meant she was losing control of her emotions. She burst out in a sudden cry. “Oh, that was wonderful!” Disregarding her cue, she sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Brandt, kissing him deeply. He tried not to laugh through her passionate display.

Vestor discreetly coughed. In a low voice, he said, “Not yet, me lassie.”

Lia suddenly released her lip lock and backed away embarrassed. Her peculiar, hair-trigger emotions had gotten the better of her on her biggest day.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered, abashed. “I’m so sorry.”

The tourists “Ooo’d” and “Aww’d” anyway. Lia frantically waved her hand at the minister. “Oh, please, that was not my vow,” she pleaded. “May I still say my real one?”

Father Vestor chuckled and spread his arms. “Arrr. Go ahead, me lassie.”

Lia composed herself and faced Brandt. Brandt tried to hold back his amusement. It was a strange little comfort to know he wasn’t the only one who screwed up today.

She pinched her shoulders up bashfully and said in a soft voice, “I wrote a poem for you.” She closed her eyes for a moment to remember the words, then started:

“A life timeless, but not alive. An eclipsed sun, shrouding me in darkness like a coffin wherein I hide. Your light shines upon me, breathing air into my lungs, coursing blood through my heart. Through your eyes I see myself, not as I am, but how I wished to be. My unrealized dreams made true. You are the sun in which I dance. Your love feeds me, nourishes my very essence. I drink of it, devouring it in unquenchable hunger. Still, you offer me more. More than I ask, you willingly give. In return, I offer my love, my heart, my soul. Should it be within me, it is given unto you. All that I am is yours. For always and forever. I am your Lia.” She paused a moment and gave him one of her sweetest smiles. “I love you, Rembrandt Dekker. I cherish the honor to be your wife.”

Once again, the peanut gallery “Ooo’d” and “Aww’d.” Brandt was almost as frozen as Lia had been a moment ago. She wrote and memorized a poem about me. This demure woman, who had been deathly frightened to be seen by humans just a few months ago, had proudly written and read a profound poem that laid her soul bare, fearlessly displayed in front of strangers, all just to prove her love for him. He wasn’t a poetry fan, and he had no idea if it was any good, but it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard in his life. Stunned, his brain reflexively wanted to commit the same faux pas Lia had done earlier and just reach over and kiss her. Instead, his body did nothing but stare at her.

Lia dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Brandt tried to keep his eyes from watering as well. This stunning elfin princess, this sweet, gentle, loving vision standing before him, this sexy, insatiable, smart, funny, giving, selfless beauty in a pretty white dress was staring deeply into his eyes and telling him in front of the world (such as it is) that she was willingly and happily his for life. Brandt knew that’s what happened at weddings, but somehow it didn’t seem like it would really ever happen to him.

If you cry, they’ll revoke your man card, dude.

“Brandt?” said Lia.

“Hmm?”

Besides Lia, everyone else was looking at him. Father Vestor leaned in expectantly. Whatever Vestor had said a moment ago had flown by Brandt.

“I do,” mouthed Lia.

Shit! He had missed his cue for the “I do.” Vestor craned an eyebrow.

“I do!” blurted Brandt. He cleared his throat and smiled. “I absolutely do.”

Father Vestor nodded and continued. “Arrr, me lassie. Do ye, Natalia Viktorovna…”

“Lia,” interrupted Lia.

Now everyone was looking at her. She swallowed nervously and explained.

“I, uh – I am only Lia now.” Her eyes darted to Brandt, then back to Vestor. “Lia Viktorovna Zakharyin. Sorry. Please continue.”

Vestor sighed and continued. “Do ye, Lia Viktorovna Zakka… Zakkar… Uh.”

“Zakharyin,” said Brandt. “It’s ok, just keep going.”

“Uh, ok,” stammered Vestor. “Do ye take this man to be yer lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do ye part? Arrr?”

Lia winked at Brandt and said, “Arrr. I do.”

Brandt let slip a tiny blast of laughter. As unreal as everything seemed, it was his life with Lia. It might as well be his wedding.

Vestor lowered his book and cracked a huge grin. “Then, me lad and lass, I now pronounce ye Mr. and Mrs. Rembrandt Dekker. Ye may kiss the bride.”

Brandt did.

 

 

 

They were finishing up a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant. Brandt had ordered a single large sampler platter, that way it wouldn’t look like Lia hadn’t eaten anything. Her vampyre system wouldn’t accept a full meal, but she still loved to nibble at things, and had enjoyed small bites of everything on it. Brandt, however, gorged himself. He figured he could use the energy for his extracurricular plans that night.

Lia was still riding high from the wedding and reception. The reception was actually more of an impromptu dance party in the hotel. All-comers were invited to join in, including Vaughn and his bikini posse. There were a lot of other handsome ladies whose uninhibited dancing was encouraged by free-flowing drinks from the hotel bar, and Vaughn made advances to each of them, trying to add to his harem. Lia was better at cutting a rug than Brandt thought, but Brandt’s dance moves still stole the show. Though, he wasn’t planning on an encore of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” Lia insisted. Afterward, he was tired and figured he’d better fuel back up for the night’s more intimate festivities.

“That was so fun,” said Lia.

“The reception?” asked Brandt.

“Well, yes, but I meant the wedding. The pirate captain was quite entertaining. I loved it. How did you think of it?”

“It, uh, just came to me all of a sudden.”

She snickered softly. “I knew your wonderful sense of humor would somehow show up today. It was perfect.”

Brandt wanted to spit out his food and laugh. In a bad pirate voice, he said “Anything for you, me lass.”

She giggled. “Are you almost finished eating?”

“Just about. Why?”

“Because I have plans for you, Mr. Dekker. First, we are going to find a secluded spot on the beach, and then I’m going to make love to you on the beach until you collapse. Afterward, we will go back to the hotel and I will make love to you some more. We can play one of those games you read about, like – like maybe the one where I tie you up and…”

Brandt held out his hand. “Nuh uh, sweetie.”

“No?” Lia scrunched her brows, pensive. “Then how about you’re a pirate and I’m a captured wench?”

“No, no. Any other time, I’d be in heaven with anything you wanted to do to me. But tonight is your night. It’s tradition to pleasure the bride on her wedding night.”

“It is? I have not heard of this.”

Neither had Brandt, but Lia was usually the sexual aggressor and Brandt wanted tonight to be different.

“Trust me,” said Brandt.

His fork clinked onto the plate and held up his hand for the check.

 

 

 

Brandt stood before the bridal suite door, Lia draped across both arms. Because she was so light, it wasn’t an effort, but the balance was still a little awkward.

“Take your shoes off,” he told her.

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

She did, with a questioning smirk.

Since his hands were full, Lia dug into his pocket and pulled out the room key. The door opened and Brandt walked inside and set Lia down on her bare feet.

She slowly placed her hands to her face.

The concierge had arranged exactly what Brandt had asked. The light was dim. Racks of tall flowers in vases eclipsed the walls. Candles lined the bed and the entryway like landing lights. On a music player was a loop of songs Brandt had picked out by Smokey Robinson. Some nights were just made for Smokey. There was a tray next to the bed with several small bottles of massage oils and two towels. Rose petals lined the floor of the hallway and completely covered the top of the bed. Way to go, Nathan!

Lia slowly turned to face Brandt, adoration plain on her face.

Brandt closed the door behind him. “First, we will start with a long, slow oil massage of every inch of your body. Then I will pleasure you with my tongue until you explode in ecstasy. I will continue to pleasure you with my fingers and my tongue until you literally beg me to be inside you. Only then will I do it, and I will take my time, driving you into a fever until you beg me to go faster, and then I will pound you into that headboard, making you climax so many times, you’ll have no energy left to lift your eyelids. And once you catch your breath, I will start the whole thing over again.”

She giggled and blushed. “Mmm. That sounds delightful. Will you need my help to – um, keep things going at full strength?

Lia had some patented trick Brandt still didn’t understand to revive a post ejaculation erection in mere minutes.

He shook his head. “Nope. Got pills for that. Tonight you will do nothing except have orgasms, and keep having them until you can’t anymore.”

Her blush became crimson. She gathered herself quickly and took a step toward him. Her lips pulled on his bottom lip and held it for a long moment. Then she turned and daintily stepped across the rose petals on the floor on her way to the bed. She took her time, unzipping her dress and sliding out of it with each step. At the bed, her panties and bra slipped to the floor. Completely naked, she sat on the bed, then arched her limber, cat-like spine to where she was lying across the bed like she was leaping dancer. She brushed the thick layers of rose petals with her legs.

“I think I am going to like being married,” she purred.

Her finger snaked along the side of her leg, across her abdomen, then down the inside of her thigh. She was an exquisite cream-colored flower lying on a literal bed of roses.

“And so will you,” she said in a voice that sounded more like a breath.

She caressed herself with one hand and held the other hand up to him, curling a finger in a “come hither” gesture.

Yes, I think I will.

CHAPTER 5

 

 

 

 

FIVE MONTHS LATER.

 

Brandt woke to the muffled sound of silverware clinking and scraping against ceramic plates. Voices in casual conversation filtered through the bedroom door. Those subtle noises had only nudged him awake before the door was flung open and Lia glided in, along with the full-volume din of breakfast.

She heard my mind wake up. Nothing gets by her.

She plopped herself next to him on the bed, bouncing his body against the mattress, then gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning, husband!” she beamed.

Brandt chuckled. Even groggy and barely awake, he couldn’t find complaint with his wife’s overly bright attitude.

“Morning, hon. You really never are gonna get tired of saying ‘husband,’ are you?”

“No,” she said with practiced conviction and an indefatigable smile.

For five months she had greeted him with the same message. For some people, cute words of endearment usually replace the formal title of “husband” or “boyfriend,” words like, “sweetheart, baby, honey, pumpkin, puppy toes, sugar lips,” and so on. Brandt kept waiting for her to tire of it, but she was a machine. It was not just cute to her, it was honest pride. How could he find fault with something like that?

He shook his head. “Yeah, well someday when I’m old and fat, and losing my hair, you’ll probably be tired of me and call me something not so sweet.”

Lia pretended to consider this. “Exactly how fat?”

Brandt frowned and popped her tail lightly. She grinned.

“Then I shall become fat too, and we shall be fat together,” said Lia with finality.

Although it was in jest, that was not likely possible. Vampyre systems can digest very little food, blood is pretty much all Lia could consume, and there weren’t a lot of ways to grow fat off of blood. She probably hadn’t carried any body fat since she was a little girl somewhere around the end of the nineteenth century.

She reached under him and whacked his behind with a little force.

“Ow,” he complained.

“Now get up and come eat your breakfast,” she ordered. “I have set your plate aside and it is getting cold.”

“Ok,” he said.

She grinned again, gave him another quick kiss, this time on the lips, then whisked out the door, shutting it behind her so he could get up in privacy.

Brandt hauled himself up and threw on his lounge-around-the-house clothes. Though he had a meeting with Tom later, he would shower after breakfast and a workout.

Usually, mornings meant the kitchen was the heart of the house. This morning was typical. Things were cooking on the stove, dirty plates were piled on the counter, and Lia was bopping back and forth between the sink and the stovetop. A little Bluetooth speaker had an oldies music station going on low volume. The kitchen table was a solid oak piece and two men sat at it. One was an average-sized red-headed man, probably in his twenties, named Billy Tanner. The other was an enormous black man with a bald head and shoulders the size of two men, plus a gut and chest to match. That was Rollins.

Rollins B. Richards was well known everywhere. He had been a star offensive lineman for the Texas Longhorns in college, unfortunately destroying his knee in his senior year. Instead of sinking into misery about missing his NFL chance, he joined the Army and tried to make a difference in the world. Whenever his squad had a meeting or negotiation with potential hostiles, despite the fact that he was only a corporal, his lieutenant took Rollins with him. At 6’5” and about 300 pounds, there was a lot of intimidation value in his presence. He rarely had to show anybody that his strength matched the perception. He looked like a bald grizzly bear and had a deep voice to match. But he was as good a man as Brandt had ever known. In fact, every one of the members of the security team Brandt hired were good men. He would trust them all with his life. More importantly, he trusted them with Lia’s life.

Billy was just finishing his plate of whatever Lia had made him, and was wiping his mouth and gathering his gear. Rollins, however, was still halfway into a stack of pancakes. Brandt wasn’t sure if that was his first helping or second. Brandt sat down at the table and Lia immediately slid a warm plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him. The pancakes had steam rising from them. If they had gotten cold, she had re-warmed them. She winked at him as she withdrew and immediately went back to the stove area.

She was wearing one of her many colorful spandex leggings, plus a tunic-style white blouse belted at the waist, partially covered by an apron. On her feet were house slippers. The ensemble was fairly typical of her house attire. No longer wearing the homemade Edwardian dresses she had worn on her island, she was making attempts to modernize her wardrobe. Though, when she went out, she still preferred dresses with full body coverage.

Brandt had married some kind of Stepford vampyre mixed with Martha Stewart and June Cleaver. That’s too weird an analogy. Whatever.

Rollins had a cheekful of pancake mush when Manny came through the door. Manny Castillo was the team leader and founder of Castillo VIP Security. A former Army sergeant like Brandt, but from a different unit, he was as reliable and trustworthy as they came. Also strict with his men.

“Rollins!” barked Manny. “Goddamnit, I wanted you out on the Southside perimeter two minutes ago.”

Rollins froze for a moment, cheeks still full, cocked a pleading eyebrow at Manny, and pointed his fork in Lia’s direction. Manny sighed.

“Mrs. D?” started Manny, plaintively.

“That is my fault, Mr. Castillo,” said Lia without turning from her cooking. “I wanted Mr. Richards to finish his meal since he is a large man and it takes a lot more nourishment to fulfill his energy requirements.”

Rollins nodded, taking a tentative chew.

Lia continued. “I promise you, Mr. Castillo, Mr. Richards will be at his post as soon as he is done. Would fifteen more minutes be asking too much?”

Manny sighed and closed his eyes. “Mrs. D. This is my team,” said Manny, but not with conviction. He was about to finish his sentence when Lia interrupted.

“And this is my house you are protecting, Mr. Castillo,” she said. “And in this house, I treat people like family, and no one goes hungry. And Mr. Richards takes longer to complete that promise.”

Manny was trying not to argue, distressed to find a way to express himself without offending Lia. Brandt would’ve laughed if he thought he’d get away without an admonishing stare from his wife.

“Mrs. D, all my team appreciate your hospitality, and we all love your cooking – a little too much.” Manny shot Rollins a glare.

Rollins shrunk a little, but kept chewing.

Manny continued. “But I can’t have my team coming and going whenever they want. It’s part of the job to be on time.”

“I understand, Mr. Castillo,” said Lia.

“Manny, please, Mrs. D. I’ve asked before. Just Manny.”

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Castillo. I’ll call you Manny, and from now on, I’ll insist Mr. Richards comes to the kitchen fifteen minutes earlier so he may finish the three servings he requires from now on.” Three servings? “And in return, he gets fifteen extra minutes today.”

Manny wanted to stick his face in his palm. There was no arguing with Lia. She would find a way to get you on board with whatever she wanted if her mind was set. And this was her house. Her turf. She was the absolute queen of this ranch and the matriarch of the immediate Dekker family. Lia was also the defacto boss of the men who called themselves VIP Security, who, unbeknownst to them, had become her adopted sons. Each of them treated her like she was a kind of second mother. Never mind that she was a beautiful, twenty-one-year-old-looking girl that would tempt any one of them if they didn’t know who she was. But they did know. And in this house, she was the empress, and no one had illusions otherwise. After all, she did have Romanov in her blood, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

Manny hung his head, grimaced, and nodded subtly. Smart boy.

“Ok,” said Manny. “Fifteen more minutes, today only. And then his ass gets outside.”

“Remember, we don’t swear in my house, Manny.” It was an admonishment, but done with a smile.

“Yes, Mrs. D.”

Billy had quietly slipped past Manny and the door while the argument ensued. He started jogging to his post at the front gate.

“Thank you, Manny,” said Lia.

The whole time she was talking, she had kept her back to Manny with only her head turned to him. She now turned completely toward him and held a disposable plate covered in steaming pancakes, plus a small pile of bacon on top. Another plate was placed face down against it and the package was wrapped in tin foil. Lia approached Manny and handed him the foil-wrapped package.

“No one in my house goes hungry either, Manny,” she said. “You haven’t eaten breakfast and were too proud to ask me. You know better.”

Manny received the plates and held them to his chest. He looked down at them, lost for a response. Lia reached up and kissed his forehead gently.

“You can’t do a good job protecting us if you’re hungry. Especially when I have made your bacon extra crispy just how you like it, and put chocolate chips in your pancakes.”

Manny suddenly looked up into her eyes. Uh oh. No one survives Lia’s eyes.

Lia’s smile was maternal and almost as wide as her ears. “You can’t fool me, Manuel Castillo. It’s perfectly ok that tough soldiers like chocolate chips in their pancakes.”

Manny looked like he might just tear up. Over chocolate?

Rollins stopped chewing and looked at Brandt. He mouthed, “There’s chocolate chips?”

Manny subtly shook his head, a smile creasing his face. “My mother made me pancakes on special occasions when I was a kid. We didn’t have no money for chocolate, so my mother hid some so my father wouldn’t know. She only put chocolate chips in my pancakes when he went to work. It was my favorite. But I never told anybody.” He shook his head at her, confused how she knew.

“I’m magic,” said Lia. She gave him another lip smack on his forehead. “Now go out there and keep us safe. There’s a plastic fork and napkin in there so you can eat while you patrol. Shoo.”

Manny nodded with a smile, forgetting his attempt at masking his emotions. “Yes, Mrs. D. And thank you.”

Manny turned to Brandt and gave him a half-smile, sharp nod, and lidded stare that was the manly equivalent of “Dude, your wife is pretty awesome.”

Brandt gave the half-smile, sharp nod, and lidded stare back that answered, “Dude, I know.”

Manny went out the door and Rollins swallowed the last bite of his current plate of pancakes. Brandt had been so engrossed in the conversation, he had only managed to eat half a slice of bacon.

Rollins probably assumed Brandt wasn’t hungry because he asked quietly, “You gonna finish those, sir?”

Brandt pinched his brows in the silent man equivalent of, “Dude!”

“Rollins B. Richards?” called Lia.

Full name. Not good, bud.

Rollins’s eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I have another batch of pancakes that I am making just for you. One more minute, and I will hand them to you. My husband’s breakfast is not for sharing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sooner than she had promised, she placed yet another plate of pancakes on the table in front of Rollins. “There,” she said. “I suggest you do away with etiquette for speedier consumption so you will make Manny’s gracious deadline.”

Rollins grinned and nodded. “Woof it down. Roger that, ma’am.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “And we talked about this, Mr. Richards. Ma’am sounds too much like an old lady to me. I am Lia, or Mrs. Dekker, or perhaps Mrs. D, as Manny likes to call me. Not ma’am, please.”

Rollins bit his lips, trying not to look lost. “I’m sorry, ma… Uh, Mrs. Dekker. But it’s hard for me. I was raised to call all ladies ‘ma’am.’ It’s just respectful. I got a beatin’ when I was disrespectful. And I like you way too much, ma’am – er, Mrs. Dekker, not to be respectful.”

She frowned and looked at Brandt. He nodded at her with a little paternal grimace. Let the poor man say what he was raised to say.

Lia sighed and blew a blast of air that swept away a stray lock of hair.

“Oh, alright,” she said in mock exasperation. She smiled and kissed the top of his bald head. “Just for you, and only you, I am ma’am.”

Rollins was noticeably relieved. For a huge, intimidating man, he could sometimes be such a kid. And in Lia’s company, he reverted to that state. A giant bear groveling next to an elfin waif.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and meant it. “And, uh – can I ask a favor?”

Lia raised her brows. “Yes?”

“Since you’re calling Manny, Manny, can you, uh, call me just Rollins? It don’t feel right you callin’ me Mister. I ain’t that old.”

Considering Lia had about 90 years on Rollins which he had no idea about, Brandt had to stifle his laugh. No, big guy, you’re not.

“Alright, Rollins,” she said.

Lia patted his shoulder and went back to the sink. Rollins checked his watch, then shoveled in the remainder of his breakfast. Brandt finally tucked into his.

The kitchen eventually cleared. Brandt had eaten more than he would prefer, mentally trying to calculate the extra amount of reps he would need to do to work off the meal. Lia had turned into an exceptional cook. She had once told Brandt that she had memorized everything she ever read, and she had read a lot of cookbooks, even though she didn’t need to eat. A couple of meals on the island had apparently awakened the dormant chef in her, and now she was as loved for her food as she was for her sweet demeanor. She never failed to bring something for any security guard that might be hungry or thirsty while on duty. They all brought their own lunches and dinners for a while, but after Lia’s cooking got into them, they all began to anticipate something yummy being brought out to them. It was shameful to most professionals to think that way, but Lia made it hard to argue the point. She loved having men to take care of, and although the men were hardened warriors who had all killed men during their military service, she treated them like puppies, and they loved it.

When Brandt had hired VIP Security, he had convinced Lia it was fairly standard for large ranches to have armed security. And of course, it was added insurance against residual vengeance seekers from the old cartel. The real selling point was the promise that the men would be like extended family. Lia was excited at the thought and took the idea to heart. The men became her “boys.”

She had started with “Breakfast Mondays,” insisting on treating her new “boys” to a full breakfast once a week. That eventually got expanded to Fridays as well. And then Rollins started showing up every morning to “just check in.” He would be “surprised” when Lia invited him to sit down and eat whatever she had already prepared. Rollins was on duty five days a week, and became regularly “surprised” on each of those mornings. Manny had tried to refrain from being drawn into the kitchen, but Lia wasn’t letting any of her boys off the hook. Manny got something offered to him whether he asked or not. And most every time he accepted it and appreciated it. He was just a proud man, and had a hard time admitting he liked having a woman care for him.

Manny was divorced. His wife had been sleeping with other married men. As a result, he was sensitive to getting too close to other men’s wives.

But Lia wasn’t about to let Manny keep his distance from her. He was one of her boys too, and as long as he would accept what she offered him, she was alright with him being secretive about his desire for her cooking. She had spent so many years in solitude and relative silence on her island, she relished having a full house, and reveled in taking care of everyone.

And it wasn’t like she had nothing else to do. She was a full-time author. She also did research and experiments in her lab, presumably working on a cure for vampyrism, and analyzing Mikhail’s elixir. Plus, she helped out around the ranch, even though the ranch manager they hired, Mr. Johns, had that covered. He let her help more as a favor than out of need simply because he and Brandt knew it contributed to Lia’s happiness. Control over her world made Lia happy. For one hundred years, hiding in fear of Mikhail, Lia didn’t have control of her life or situation, and now that she did, she was ecstatic about it. Brandt was just as ecstatic that he was able to give that to her. He never had control of his life either, but making Lia happy was close enough.

Brandt sat back and rubbed his bloated stomach. If I go for a run, I’ll have to wait until the afternoon, otherwise, I’ll puke. “Thank you, honey,” he said.

Lia slid into the opposite chair and set a small plate on the table in front of herself. She blew a little air kiss as a “you’re welcome” response. No one would ever complain that Lia wasn’t an affectionate person.

Brandt said, “It was terrific as usual. You know, one of these days, you’re going to have to let me cook breakfast for you though.”

“I don’t need to eat, silly. You know that.”

He gave her a crooked smirk and nodded toward the piece of bacon on her plate.

Her face flickered through several expressions, unable to find the appropriate one for her excuse. “Yes, well, I do like to taste bacon.”

“See, you’re just like everyone else. So, I’ll cook you some bacon. Ooo, and I used to make really good hash browns. Come on, you never let me cook for you anymore.”

She thought for a moment, snapped off a bite of bacon, and then said, “Alright. You can cook breakfast for me any day you like.”

“Really?”

“Certainly. All you have to do is get up before I do.”

You little… Lia was a night-loving vampyre, and because of her high octane energy system, she slept considerably less than most humans.

She giggled softly and took another bite of bacon.

“Uh huh. You think you’re being clever,” said Brandt, putting on his poker face. “Well, what about if I wear you out with a night of marathon acrobatic sex so you’ll be so tired you’ll sleep until noon? Hmm?”

“That would be delightful. But, if I recall, the last time we did that, we both slept until noon.”

Oh, yeah.

Lia said, “Poor Rollins had to make do with a granola bar.”

We have granola bars?

Brandt tried to think of a Plan B, but came up short. Even though he wasn’t really upset, he did miss being able to do things for her. She loved everything she was doing, but he felt like somehow her desire to take care of everyone else was robbing her of other things. As she almost always did, she sensed his mood and had the correct response.

“I know you wish to make me happy, but I am already very happy, my husband. But I understand your point, so – tomorrow morning, after I cook something for Rollins, you may fix me whatever you wish, and I will look forward to sampling it.”

Brandt gave her a dependant smile. “More than just tomorrow.”

“Alright, once every week then?”

“You got a deal, missy.”

Brandt was laughing at himself inside. A little less than a year ago, his world was a complicated hell of vengeance, self-loathing, destructive sabotage, and a death wish. Now his world was a simple place where all he focused on was pleasing Lia. When she was happy, he was happy. And she had stayed continuously happy for nearly six months. And so he had been happy for the same. Purely and absolutely. Life could be really weird.

He helped clear the table even though Lia preferred to do it herself. Brandt was aware that Lia was massaging his pride by allowing him to stack the dishwasher. No doubt, she would rearrange the dishes after he left, but he felt better anyway.

He went into the only room in the house that was truly his: the workout room. Lia had insisted it was his to design and decorate however he liked with no comment from her. Complete freedom to tack up whatever horrific artwork he enjoyed: poker dogs, sports stars, cool cars, bikini models, all perfectly acceptable. Despite her expectations, all he ended up hanging was his Army certificates, pictures of his deceased Army friends, and an American flag.

Workout crushed, he showered and stepped back into the bedroom to dress. Lia was sorting through her closet, sifting through dresses. Her casual, home attire, like today’s ensemble, resembled a mashup of styles from the 60s and 80s (Lia’s sense of style was still catching up). Outside, especially to something as formal sounding as a “luncheon,” she wore dresses. And today, she did have something she deemed formal.

“Your lunch is at twelve-thirty, right?” asked Brandt.

“Yes,” she said. “I am so nervous.”

“We talked about this. You already met these ladies, and they liked you. They want to be your friend.”

“But I’m still nervous.”

Lia probably hadn’t had a real friend in around one hundred years. In her house, she had authority and was the center of attention, but outside the ranch property, she was as timid and awkward as an adolescent lost in a big city. It was not necessarily a metaphor considering they lived near Los Angeles.

“All the guys here love you. The ladies will too,” said Brandt.

“It’s easier to talk to men. I don’t know how to talk to women.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Yes, but what if they wish to discuss things I am unfamiliar with? Or embarrassed by?”

“Honey, whatever it is, just be brave and go with it. They’ll probably just wanna talk about writing anyway. You’ll do fine. You’ll see.”

She nodded. “What if they want to come back here?”

“Heaven forbid we should have women eating our food rather than men.”

She nodded again and chagrined. I actually won a discussion? A tiny victory.

Brandt said, “We can just tell Manny to stay scarce while your guests are over so you can have privacy to talk and they won’t think we run a paramilitary camp.”

“See?” she said, hands on hips.

Brandt kissed her forehead. “It’ll be fine.”

Lia sighed and forced a reluctant smile. She reached up to straighten out his twisted collar.

“So, you’re just meeting with Tom?” she asked.

“Yeah. He’s got some new lead on an old case that he wants me to go with him to check out.”

Lia nodded, then cocked her head. She had sensed something in his thoughts.

“The same case that made you think that you should hire a security team for us?” she asked.

“Well – yeah. But it’s no big deal today. It’s just a lead to check out.”

Lia stared into his eyes. He always had a hard time pulling away from that. She gave him a subtle pout, then reached forward and pulled his face to hers. Their heads pressed together so their noses touched.

“You will be careful,” she said.

“It’s no big deal.”

“I know you are trying to spare me from worrying, and I will not pry into your mind further – but promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll be careful.”

“Ok.” She gave him a small kiss on the nose. “I’ll see you later.”

“Kay. Love you.”

She let him go and went back to her closet.

As Brandt walked out to his truck, he chided himself for not hiding his thoughts better. He was indeed trying to keep something from Lia that would worry her. It worried him a little too. Confronting a fugitive was always a risk, and there was the possibility this one could be armed and hostile. One way or another, he’d find out very shortly.

CHAPTER 6

 

 

 

 

Lia sat by herself in the rear of the restaurant. She had asked Billy Tanner to drop her off a few minutes early so she would have time to negotiate a table furthest from a window for her and the soon-to-arrive lunch-mates. In her home, every window had UV protection, so she could wear whatever she wanted and be wherever she liked without worry, but once she stepped outside the door, she had to don thorough defenses for her skin. Though she was completely covered except for her face, every little inch of distance away from direct sunlight was always a help. All her friends and professional acquaintances, including the ladies she was meeting today, knew about her “XP skin condition,” and though everyone tries to be helpful about it, she found it best to just arrange things herself whenever possible. That way there was less chance something suspicious would slip out. The restaurant was a country club café that was open and airy. The only spot that was out of direct sunlight was the table near the kitchen. It would do fine.

Her spot in the center of the room was even a little cooler. Temperatures never really bothered her much. Her vampyre system tended to correct her internal temperature for the surrounding environment in most cases. Everyone else in the room was wearing light, warm weather clothing. She was the only one completely covered. A fairly typical situation wherever she went.

Today she wore a simple silk dress that didn’t have long sleeves, but she added white, arm-length gloves. A pastel scarf shielded her neck, and her skirt reached to about mid-calf. Her long brown boots covered the rest of her legs. She felt funny about wearing her hat indoors, especially if it had the veil for her face, which this one did, so the hat hung from the chair back. There shouldn’t be any direct sunlight hitting her face at her table, so she figured she would be fine without the hat. Should she feel any kind of heat on her skin, she could always just put the hat back on.

Her hair was the usual style that she had worn ever since she got married. The front was pulled back in either a clip or a band, and the rear hung long. Her family had always held a strict standard for hairstyles, which she had adopted for nearly one hundred years. Matriarchs of the family wore their hair up indoors. Since Lia was the only woman in her house when she lived with Viktor, she wore her hair up inside the house. Outdoors was the choice of the lady, but typically an unmarried woman wore her hair down and married ladies wore it up. On the island, she wore it down outdoors. But after she married Brandt, she decided that her husband should have a say in her appearance. He was sweet and tried to defer to her judgment, but she knew what he liked. He always preferred her hair down. Though he once had her put it in pig-tails, that was for an entirely different reason. The traditional up-do would’ve been appropriate if she was in another century, but she was in this one now. She compromised and decided she would pin the front of her hair back in public, but in the house, she would dress and appear however her husband liked. That felt right to her.

The two ladies she was waiting for arrived. They were talking to the hostess, probably asking if Lia had already reserved a table. She waved at them.

Lia had met Margorie “Marge” Weddle and Celia Forster at a romance book convention. They were romance writers like Lia, and their publisher had placed them in the same booth to greet fans and conventioneers. The day had been long with very little people talking to any of them, so they chatted to each other for hours. Lia was surprised to find out that the ladies enjoyed her company. She had assumed they would see her as competition and be cold to her. But Lia’s writing style was considered old fashioned, atypical to most modern novelists including Marge and Celia. They wrote more explicit books that primarily focused on titillation. A step below erotica, though some people referred to the genre as “Mommy Porn.” Marge was the only one that used a pseudonym: Margot LeBlanc. She didn’t think her real name sounded very appealing to readers. During their stint at the convention table, the two writers found Lia entertaining and asked if she wanted to do lunch sometime. Today was finally sometime. For nearly a century, Lia hadn’t had a friend, and even though she was now a second mother to nearly two dozen men that patrolled her property, she wasn’t sure that counted as friends since they were paid to be there, and their friendship might be coaxed through their stomachs. Lia had no idea how to be a friend to women. She folded her hands in her lap and tried to hide her anxiety.

The two ladies approached, waving to Lia. She smiled and lifted one hand to wave again. The two ladies took seats at the table.

Marge was a lovely black woman with shoulder-length hair, a flower print blouse, and white pants. She was curvy, heavier than she would like, but wore her weight well. Celia was an attractive mid-thirties Caucasian woman with a fitness model’s figure and ash blonde hair that was probably not her natural color. The short, snug dress she wore was an attempt to make her trim figure trimmer than it should be.

“Oh, honey, look at you!” said Marge.

Lia was confused, but glanced at herself.

Marge giggled. “I mean, we’re already jealous of how you brought back old fashioned romance writing, but honey, are you trying to bring back the fashion too? You look like you stepped right out of one of your Victorian novels. Such a pretty dress.”

“Oh, this?” said Lia, spreading her gloved arms wide. “This is far from Victorian. It is much simpler and a mix of things. Really, I think it is a poor representation of what I can make.”

“Make? You made that?” asked Celia.

Lia nodded. “Except for the gloves. My husband bought those for me.”

Marge fanned herself with a napkin. “Girl, you are too talented for your own good.”

The waiter appeared and everyone ordered a variation of salad. Glasses of water were brought, along with a bottle of wine, then the ladies were alone again.

Celia leaned forward. “I haven’t worn a full-length dress since I was in high school. The only good thing about ‘em to me was that I could have sex with my boyfriend and no one would know.” Celia laughed to herself. “We’d go outside at lunchtime, I’d sit on his lap and the dress would cover us while I played rocking chair.”

Lia looked at Marge for further explanation, however, Marge just shook her head and rolled her eyes a little.

“You did this where people could see you?” asked Lia to Celia.

Celia shrugged. “What could they see? The dress covered us. They couldn’t tell I was naked underneath.”

“You wore no undergarments?”

Celia shook her head. “Not at lunchtime. They’d secretly disappear around that time, then appear back on me afterward. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t wear any at all if these skirts weren’t so short. You wear any?”

Marge seemed content to stay out of this part of the conversation. Lia was on her own to answer. She heard Brandt’s advice in her head: Just be brave and go with it. “Most times. Though, sometimes I just prefer the hose.”

Celia looked stunned. “Pantyhose? I didn’t think anyone wore those anymore.”

“I do not think what I wear is called that. I’m not sure what they’re called actually.”

Celia made a finger motion for Lia to show her. Lia glanced around, then lifted the edges of her dress up. She wore the colorful leggings she had worn that morning and had simply put the dress on over top.

Lia chuckled. “Father would’ve rolled his eyes at me, but I rather like them. They are very comfortable.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” exclaimed Celia. “Leggings with no panties under a dress. You’re a trendsetter, sweetie.”

Celia held up her hand for a high five and Lia touched her hand to it, but wasn’t sure what she was expected to do.

“I hardly think I am setting any kind of trend. If anything, I am considerably behind.”

Celia shrugged. “It’s all bullshit anyway. We kill ourselves trying to keep up with fashion, but all guys want us to do is go around naked.”

“That is exactly what my husband told me. I told him that was impractical,” said Lia.

Celia smiled and shrugged. “I’d do it if I could get away with it.”

“Well, I can’t during the day,” said Lia, a little wistful. “But I do like to sleep that way. I believe my husband appreciates it.”

“Ooo, honey, I’ll bet he does,” said Marge. “He probably tries to wake you up at all hours,” said Marge.

“I am normally the one who keeps him up. But once we finish…” Lia realized she had gone much farther than she had intended, but she knew she had to complete the sentence. “…Afterward, he sleeps very well.”

Marge fanned herself again with the napkin. “Mmm hmm. That man does not deserve you.”

Lia pinched up her shoulders bashfully. “That is what he tells me. But I believe it is only modesty. He knows that I love him with my very essence.”

“Oh, now I know he doesn’t deserve you,” said Marge.

Lia blushed.

Marge changed the subject and asked Celia about her drive in, which turned into a debate over who had worse traffic. Lia hoped they didn’t ask about her own traffic experience. She wasn’t normally interested in traffic or driving times, she was too busy soaking in every detail of what she could see from her car window, uncaring about how fast or slow she was going. Plus, she didn’t want to bring up the fact that she got chauffeured everywhere. Although she was capable of getting her driver's license, she had been afraid, deciding to get just an ID until she could muster more courage. Then once the security team came on board, they insisted they accompany her on her errands, so it ended up that they simply drove her in her Ford Explorer wherever she needed to go. It was convenient for both her and the security team, but she worried that people may see her as stuck up or snobbish.

The salads came and Celia dug in ravenously. Marge looked unhappily at hers, poking a tentative fork into a wad of lettuce.

“This better make me look like Rihanna soon, or I’m going to give up and go get me some barbeque,” said Marge.

Celia said, “I actually like salads, just not as the only course. But these hips ain’t staying in this dress without work.”

Lia picked at some vegetables and chewed on one. She was trying to go very slow in hopes she wouldn’t have to consume the whole meal. Marge and Celia would have no idea about her vampyre system’s aversion to food, and she didn’t want to call attention to it.

“Thank you for agreeing to sit here in the darker corner of the restaurant,” said Lia. “If it wasn’t for my – condition, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Oh, that’s alright, honey,” said Marge. “We’re just happy to be out. All I ever do anymore is sit around and write my trashy books. It gets me all worked up, and then… Oh, never mind, I just need to get out more. So, I’m glad I’m here.”

Celia grinned. “Yeah, well. I’ve read your ‘trashy’ books. I wish mine were half as good.”

“You liar,” said Marge. She shoveled half the plate of salad into her mouth at once, then chewed. “Honey, your stuff could qualify as illegal in some states. Whooo!” Marge pretended to fan herself.

Lia chimed in. “I have read both your works.” Both ladies looked at her expectantly and Lia tried not to blush. “They are very – inspiring,” she finally said.

“There ain’t nothing to be inspired about in my books,” said Marge.

“No, no,” said Lia. “You misunderstand. They inspire – certain feelings.”

Marge stared at Celia, who stared back and eventually grinned impishly. “You mean they get you hot?” asked Celia.

Lia blushed crimson and subtly nodded.

Celia laughed raucously. “Oh, don’t you dare be ashamed of that. That is the best thing you could possibly tell us. We want them to get you so wet, your panties qualify as lakefront property.” Celia once again placed her hand up for the high five. Lia guessed right and slapped it this time. “There ya go! Thank you!”

Marge laughed too. “Property of that lucky man of yours. I hope he appreciates it.”

Lia continued to blush, then nodded again. “Sometimes I read those kind of stories aloud to him.”

“Oh, hell yeah, I like that idea,” said Celia. “Naked I hope?”

Lia nodded. “I don’t get to read very far.”

Marge let out a deep booming laugh. “I hope the hell not. And he better do the same for you.”

Lia’s blush deepened. She tried to shrink into her chair. “Yes.” She noticed they were staring at her in rapt attention, waiting for further details. Just be brave and go with it. “He doesn’t get to read very far either.” Lia dropped her eyes to her salad, acutely aware of how far past her comfort zone she had gone.

“Oh, no way, girlfriend,” said Celia. “You’re not stopping now. Details, details.”

Lia looked up hesitantly. “Girlfriend?”

“Of course,” said Celia. “We’re girls, you’re our friend. Duh.”

Lia beamed. “We are friends?”

Marge laughed again. “I already told you, I don’t get out enough. And Celia gets out but – all she does is chase men.”

Celia said, “Hey!”

“Girl. You know it’s true, now hush.” Marge had her hands on her hips.

Celia shrugged. “Ok, it’s true.”

“Mmm hmm,” said Marge. “So, we don’t have any good girl friends. I’ve only got her, and she tolerates me, so – you’re kind of our first in a while.”

Lia clapped excitedly. “I love this! We are all friends now.”

Marge smiled and held up her glass of wine. “Sure we are.”

Lia lifted her glass to clink Marge’s glass.

Celia did a throat giggle. “You two are hilarious.” She lifted her glass and joined the clinking.

They all sipped at their wines for a moment.

Celia asked with an impish grin, “So, now that you’ve teased us about the fun you and your hubby have, I’m curious if all that good, old fashioned romance you put in your books is from real experience and not just imagination. Hmm?”

Lia froze a little, wondering if they had guessed her real age. “Oh, of course not. My husband is only twenty-eight. I, uh… We are not from the Victorian age.”

“You know what I mean,” said Celia. “I read your latest book. That man of yours sounds almost as sweet as that Viking lover you wrote about. What was his name? Errol? Errr – rotic?”

“Erik,” said Marge.

“Right. We all write from what we know. I’ll bet Erik has a lot in common with your hubby. You know, maybe his sweetness, or his toughness, orrrr – perhaps his prowess at certain nighttime activities?” Celia was looking like a cat burglar staring at a museum diamond.

Lia was not picking up on Celia’s elbowing. “But Erik is only a figment of my imagination.” True enough for that particular character, but not so much for the hero of her first novel who was entirely inspired by Brandt.

Marge chimed in. “Honey, don’t mind her. She’s just jealous cuz you’re happily married and she’s a man-hungry ho.”

Celia narrowed her eyes pretending offense. “And you’re not?”

Marge lifted her glass and shrugged. “I wasn’t denying nothin’,” she said in a demur voice.

Celia turned to Lia who looked concerned. “Ah, sweetie, I’m just nosey, looking for juicy stuff I can borrow for my books. I like to pry into other people’s sex lives. So, if you ever feel like spilling anything –.”

Lia asked, “You wish me to – inspire you?”

“I think she’s got it,” laughed Marge. “And we’ve gone and corrupted the poor girl. Just cuz we can’t get some ourselves, we’re tryin’ to peek in her bedroom.” Marge held her hand to her chest, she was trying to stifle her laughing.

“Speak for yourself,” said Celia. “I’m getting plenty, but – I do want to be her. Look at her. She looks like a Calvin Klein model. I’m mean, is that a size zero dress?”

Lia’s blush ignited into full force.

Marge pretended to slap at Celia, and Celia did the same back. To Lia, Marge said. “Honey, you’re gorgeous. We’re just jealous. Don’t mind us.”

Celia had an idea. “Do you have any good pictures?”

“Of whom?” asked Lia.

“She wants to see your man, honey,” said Marge.

“Brandt? Well…” Lia dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I have photos on this device. Is that ok?”

“Juicy ones?” asked Celia.

Lia shrugged. On the phone was a well-framed picture of her and Brandt embracing. They were both wearing formal evening wear since they were on their way to an L.A. philharmonic concert. It was her favorite photo. She loved the look of them as a couple. For a brief moment, she was lost admiring her husband: his strong jaw, boyish smile, short tousled hair that never stayed combed very long, piercing eyes that were so kind to her but could become hard as steel when he felt she was threatened. She loved who he was and what was inside of him so much, she forgot at times how outwardly attractive he was. He could easily be a heroic movie actor if he ever wanted a new job. Lia pointed the cell phone at both ladies.

“Awww,” said Marge. “He’s handsome. Very handsome. Ok, I kinda get why you like him.”

Celia stuck her finger in her mouth. “Yeah, yeah, he’s pretty. You have any good ones? You know?” She wiggled in her chair, acting like she was undressing herself.

Lia’s face went ashen. “No,” she said too quickly. She was about to pull back the phone when she thought of something. “Well – there is a shot of him and his Army friends at the pool. Oh wait, here’s one of just him.” Lia liked the picture immensely. She was very proud of Brandt’s chiseled body, but she was hesitant to show it to everyone else without his approval.

Celia was giddy. “Gimme, gimme.”

She plucked the phone from Lia and looked. She held her eyes on it for a moment, then her mouth slowly opened. “Those abs are for real?”

“Of course they are real,” said Lia. “He works very hard on them.”

“I thought they only came that way on book covers,” said Celia. She blinked several times, her eyes tracing the angular lines defining Brandt’s torso.

“Damn, you ho, stop drooling over the poor girl’s husband.” Marge stole the phone away and pulled it closer to herself. After she blinked a few times, she said. “Ooo, honey,” then fanned herself with a napkin. “I don’t doubt you no more. If you want to ride that cowboy every night, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Lia was almost purple from embarrassment. She liked that women admired Brandt, but this felt wrong to her.

“We don’t mean anything, sweetie,” said Celia noticing Lia’s discomfort. “We’re just playing. You’re a lucky girl and he’s a lucky man.”

Marge continued to fan. “Celia, honey, we are way too jealous of other people’s lives.”

Celia raised her glass to salute the thought. Marge tipped her glass into her own mouth as an abbreviated salute. She touched the screen of Lia’s phone and the next image came up. It was a shot from the same pool, but now Brandt was posing with several of the VIP Security men. Marge put her glass down. “Who’s this?” she asked.

Lia leaned toward Marge to see. “Oh, those are several of Brandt’s – uh, friends. We are around them quite a lot.”

“Ok, but who’s this? This one. That handsome hunk of dark meat right there?”

Marge had singled out Rollins.

“His name is Rollins Richards,” said Lia. “I like him. He is very nice.”

“Mmm hmm. Very nice indeed.”

Lia added, “Brandt complains his appetite will make us – um, go broke? But he is only kidding. I enjoy feeding Rollins.”

Marge’s eyes widened a bit. “He likes home cookin’, huh?”

“Quite a lot of it,” said Lia.

Marge nodded and smiled to herself. “Now, why don’t I get to meet men like that?”

“I am not sure,” said Lia. “I see him most every day at – um, my house.”

Marge raised her brows and turned to Lia. “So, when will I be coming to your house then, hmmm?”

Lia looked apprehensive, then Marge laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m teasing. But –if you didn’t mind me dropping by, you know, one day when he might be there? I could bring some of my famous casserole?” Marge shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Just sayin’.”

Celia snagged the phone back from Marge and looked at the photo herself. Her eyes found something too.

“Who’s this one?” she asked.

Lia shook her head unable to see, then Celia turned the phone to Lia with her long fingernail pointing to the broad-shouldered man on the end.

“Oh, that’s Manuel Castillo. He prefers to be called Manny. He is very sweet. I like him too.”

“Those shoulders and that jaw certainly are sweet,” said Celia. She smacked her lips. “Is he single? And does he come over a lot too?”

“Yes,” said Lia timidly.

“If she’s coming over,” said Celia, waving a hand at Marge, “Then I am too. We’ll just have another lunch at your house.”

Lia tried to look pleased, but was nervous. She liked the ladies just fine, but had never brought anyone to her home. Her dealings with people had always been brief, easier to hide her affliction when all she had to do was play the normal human for a short while. Continued and prolonged exposure to people would be harder to carry herself off as human. Her security “boys” saw her in her own element, protected from the sun, with rooms she could hide in should she need to, so at least if these ladies came over, Lia would have that benefit. She swallowed and tried to think quickly.

Marge said, “Oh, look at us, inviting ourselves to the poor girls’ house. What kind of ladies are we?”

Celia snorted. “Aw, sweetie, it’s ok. We’re just teasing. Don’t mind us.”

Lia tried to correct them. “No, no. I’d like to. It’s just – I’ve never had friends… never brought anyone home before.”

Marge put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’re being very rude, honey. I’m sorry. You were probably the prettiest girl at school, and all the girls hated you because they all thought you were going to steal their boyfriend. But you’re so shy, and you have your skin condition, and all you probably did was avoid everyone so they wouldn’t mess with you. Huh?”

Lia obviously couldn’t correct that statement, so she just shrugged.

“Look at her,” said Marge, curling her thick arm around Lia like she had just adopted Lia as her daughter. “She’s been scared of meeting folks and all we do is just jump all over her, inviting ourselves into her life.”

“No, please,” said Lia. “I would very much like you both in my life. It’s just – my life is very abnormal. I am – very abnormal. It has been difficult to make friends, so I am not used to it.”

“Sweetie,” said Celia. “Anyone who doesn’t want to be your friend is just plain an asshole. Probably jealous. The only abnormal thing about you is that you make me think some Photoshop pictures might be real. If that’s a disease, I’ll take some of it. No one has skin as gorgeous as that. It doesn’t exist anywhere in nature except on your perfect body. You might have a condition sweetie, but you’re stunningly beautiful. A living porcelain doll. And sweeter than anyone has a right to be. So, if someone has a problem with you, then someone should kick that rude bitch’s ass.”

Lia smiled.

Marge smirked at Celia. “You act like you’d kick the rude bitch’s ass yourself.”

Celia sipped her wine. “Maybe I would. It’s a good workout for the hips and thighs.” She made a comical pretense of pressing her finger against her hip and making a sizzle sound.

Marge guffawed.

Lia beamed. “My husband would do it with you.”

Marge looked at Celia, then back to Lia, surprised.

Lia noticed their confused expressions. “He would kick anyone’s aaah – rears too. He always threatens to. But I am afraid he would be arrested.”

Marge burst out laughing. Celia followed her, trying not to spit out her wine. Marge clapped a heavy hand on Lia’s shoulder. “You’re alright, girl.”

Lia smiled and sipped at her own wine.

Celia put her glass down, and said, “Ok, ladies, we have serious business to discuss.”

Marge looked questioningly at Celia.

Celia grinned and made the pretense of looking respectable, folding her hands in her lap, lady-like. There was a long silence before Celia finally said, “Seriously. When can we come over?” Celia made an amused snort signifying that she was only playing.

Lia shook her head, but smiled. “As soon as possible,” she said. “I would very much enjoy a lunch at my house.”

Marge huffed at Celia. “Now you’ve gone and done it.” She turned to Lia. “Listen, honey, if you’re serious, we’ll bring the food. You won’t need to go to any trouble. We’re not that rude. And pick a time you like. We’ll work around it.”

“Would Friday be ok?” asked Lia.

“Will Manny be there?” asked Celia.

“Yes,” said Lia.

“Deal!” said Celia.

Marge looked uncomfortable. Celia waved a dismissive hand at her, facing Lia. “She’s too proud to ask if Rollins will be there. So, I’ll ask.”

“Yes,” said Lia.

Celia grinned wickedly and shot Marge a “gotcha” look. Marge lowered her eyes, but smiled.

When Celia raised her empty glass, Marge and Lia responded by raising theirs. Celia let loose another snort. “Jesus, I’m not proposing a toast. I’m asking for more wine.” She whistled through her teeth. “Waiter?”

 

 

 

They finished their wine, though, to Lia’s relief, none of them finished their salads. Celia was fairly tipsy. She had poured herself far more wine than the other two women and now was amorously looking at one of the busboys.

Marge noticed and said, “Honey, you better slow that roll or you’re going to wind up sneaking out of some college boy’s dorm room in the morning again.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“You’re thirty-five. You ever think that dating – no, sleeping with nothing but college boys is the reason you don’t have a steady relationship?”

Celia shrugged. “Just because the packaging is out of date doesn’t mean the product isn’t good. They know what they’re getting.”

“Yeah, but you don’t. You need to start looking at men your own age,” said Marge. She turned to Lia. “How old is Manny?”

Lia shrugged. “I’m not sure. He might be around forty. I’m not a good judge of human – uh, men’s age.”

“There. Manny’s a good change for you.”

Celia shrugged. “Ok, ok. But that’s Friday. I’m still gonna be horny tonight.”

Marge harrumphed. “Honey, you’d be better off staying home with your little pink toy.”

“It’s not a toy. You know damned well it’s a personal tension release apparatus,” said Celia.

Lia was curious. “Pink toy?”

Marge nodded, smirking. “Yeah. She likes hers pink. I kinda like ‘em darker.” She giggled.

Lia was utterly confused. “Why does she want a toy?”

Marge laughed, probably thinking that Lia was teasing. She soon realized that Lia was not. Marge said, “Well, honey, those of us who are without men in our lives have to find alternate ways of…” she bit back a laugh, “…releasing tension.”

“Amen,” said Celia, raising her wine glass.

Lia was still confused.

Marge tried to rephrase her answer. “It’s a vibrator, honey.”

Lia shook her head. The word still didn’t register. “A toy that vibrates?”

“It’s a mechanical penis, darling,” said Celia, blurting it out. “I have one just in case. Like just in case I’m not wrapping my legs around that boy’s fine ass tonight.” She sipped her wine again.

Lia slowly placed her hands to her mouth.

“You’ve gone and shocked the girl,” said Marge to Celia.

Celia blew a drunken raspberry.

Marge offered to Lia, “Don’t let this ho make it sound all sleazy an’ shit. I’m not ashamed to say I use mine. It lets me get my thoughts back to what I’m doing instead of daydreaming about the kind of stuff I write, like some gorgeous hunk of man laying my main character down and…” she started fanning herself. “Oh, there I go. I might just need it tonight.” Marge chuckled. “It’s an honest tool to help me keep my mind on my work. Seriously. It’s not sleazy at all.”

Lia looked at Marge and nodded slowly. “Because you think too much about – sex? And it helps you remedy that?”

“That is exactly what it does,” said Marge.

Celia tried not to laugh. “I only use mine when I strike out. And I don’t think I’m gonna strike out tonight.” She waggled fingers at the busboy who had been staring at her while he loaded plates into his tray.

Marge said, “Don’t mind her. Is your husband gone a lot?”

“Sometimes,” said Lia. “He will be gone this afternoon. I was very used to being lonely before I met him, but – not so much anymore.”

“Oh, dear lord, sweetie. What happened to you when you were young?”

Lia shrunk into her chair.

“Never mind,” said Marge. “If you think you’d like to try one, you just say the word, and ol’ Marge will get you hooked up. A sweet little thing like you shouldn’t go into an adult store by herself.”

Lia looked at Marge hopefully. “You would get one for me?”

“Sure, honey. What size and color would you like?”

Lia kneaded her hands in her lap. “I don’t – know.”

Celia stopped staring at the busboy and turned toward the conversation. “Jesus, Marge, you’re embarrassing her worse than I do.”

Marge held her hands out. “What?”

Celia shook her head. “She’ll want pink for Christ’s sake.” She leaned toward Lia. “Sweetie, I like mine large, but not all women do. Unless, of course, you’re used to something that size?”

Marge exploded. “Oh, good lord, you drunk ho. You’re asking the girl how damned big her man’s dick is?”

“You just asked her what color cock she liked, ya hypocritical ho cake,” sniped Celia.

Lia was lost for any kind of response. First of all, she had no idea how large men’s penises were supposed to be, and what variety they came in, much less how Brandt’s organ matched up. She had read technical statistics in medical books, plus many fictional descriptions from romance books, but there were no reasonable measuring indexes to judge such things. She honestly had never even considered the issue. Men’s penises changed so vastly in size and shape depending on the man’s mood anyway. She had nothing on her body that came close to doing that. Well, perhaps her fangs, but those were another matter. Brandt was a tall man, so maybe…?

Marge was still going on. “Lord, she’ll think we’re both horrible people, asking her…”

“Large?” said Lia in a mousy voice.

Celia grinned wickedly. “There ya go. One electric pink Kong Dong for the lady it is,” she said.

CHAPTER 7

 

 

 

 

The man watched the white Ford Explorer pull into the parking lot of a small chain of concrete block buildings along the side of a busy road. The neighborhood was not somewhere people who owned nice new cars like the Explorer would normally linger. Besides the Explorer, two other cars turned into the parking lot. One was a late model Honda Accord and the other was a new convertible Mustang. All three cars bunched together as they parked. The driver of the Honda, a full-figured black woman, and the driver of the Mustang, an athletic-figured white woman, got out of their cars. Neither of them was the man’s target.

His target was in the Explorer. She wasn’t alone in the car. The driver was an armed man, young-looking, red hair, ex-military, and wiry. The watcher briefly tracked the two other ladies as they walked into a store, then he re-focused on the Explorer. The target remained in the back seat of her car. Within minutes, the two other ladies came back out with a package. They gave the package to the target, then the larger woman reached into the Explorer and hugged the target. Eventually, they got back into their own cars. At that point, all three cars cranked up and left in separate directions.

The watcher knew where the target lived. His job was to find daily routines outside the target’s home. But so far he had found no discernable routine. The target rarely left the house, and when she did, it wasn’t to consistent places like grocery stores. On the occasion when she did go grocery shopping, she had a larger than normal armed detail probably to help carry the immense amount of food she bought. Everywhere else she went, she had at least one armed escort. He let the cars all disappear down the road.

He packed up his binoculars and started his own vehicle. His master would not like his report. The desired situation was to avoid penetrating the target’s home complex since it had high walls, security cameras, and numerous armed men. That would cause a much too noticeable scene. However, it may be the only way. Perhaps he would wait to report. Do more reconnaissance. The man pulled onto the road and sped off.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

“There it is,” said Brandt.

Tom nodded and slowed the car. The house was tiny with a driveway barely long enough for a car’s rear bumper to stay out of traffic. Not that there was any traffic here. The narrow residential street looked like it was the neighborhood defacto playground and dumpster combined. Two young Hispanic boys played in the street, beating trash with sticks. A middle-aged black man stood in his yard watering something, glaring at Brandt and his partner.

Brandt got out of the car and looked around. He was acutely aware that in this neighborhood, two white men in suits, driving a government-issue Crown Victoria, was probably a sign that somebody was in trouble. He tried not to look menacing and waved at the little boys. The boys stared at him for one moment, then resumed their game a little further away. The man watering his lawn simply stood still and watched Tom and Brandt.

Tom put his hands on his hips as he looked at the house. “Doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” he said.

The house was run-down to be sure, but so were most of the houses along that street. However, one of the front windows had been broken, and there didn’t seem to be an attempt to cover it or tape it up. It may not have mattered since the tip said that Jamir Davis was hiding out here, not necessarily a long term resident. Brandt slowly walked a little further to the side of the driveway as Tom approached the broken window near the front door. Within Brandt’s view, there was a small exterior structure in the back yard that might be a storage shed. It was unlikely to be a garage since only a narrow walkway led up to it. There were no windows and the wide door was padlocked. Brandt saw no movement or anything else on the side of the house to be concerned with. He relaxed the hand resting on his pistol holster. The holster was normally kept in his truck because he didn’t like Lia seeing him carrying a gun, and he only pulled it out when Tom took him on leads. It was the same holster and pistol he had liberated from one of the assassins who had attacked him on Lia’s island. Perhaps a morbid thing to do, but it was an expensive gun, and it reminded Brandt to remain vigilant.

“I think we’re clear over here,” said Brandt.

“Yeah, I don’t see anyone inside,” said Tom. “Just to be thorough, I’ll knock.”

That didn’t sound like a good idea, but Brandt said nothing. If someone was hiding from you, and was a suspected vicious murderer, standing in front of the door was giving them an easy target. Tom at least leaned to the side of the door as he rapped his knuckles on it.

“Hello?” called Tom. “Anybody home?”

No sound, no movement. Brandt took a step to his left to see the back corner of the house better, in case someone tried to escape around the rear. There was a rusty schoolyard fence back there that an escapee would have to jump to get completely away.

“Hello?” continued Tom. “Jamir? I’m Colonel Tom Hart from the U.S. Army. I just want to talk with you.”

Brandt thought he saw something. It was probably a trick of his peripheral vision, so he moved a few steps closer to a side window and looked in.

“Jamir?” called Tom. “We just want to talk with you, if you’re in there.”

Something definitely moved in the house. It was a dark shape moving quickly left to right.

“Tom!” said Brandt in a loud whisper.

Tom turned. “What?” he asked in the same loud whisper.

Brandt wasn’t able to reply. The front door exploded in a flurry of splinters and smoke. Wood shards pelted the porch and ground. Tom tucked his head into his jacket and covered with his arms. The hole created in the door was the size of a volleyball and was speckled with other tiny holes. A shotgun blast. Tom had been leaning away from the door and received no direct hit.

“Shit!” growled Brandt, ducking.

He unsnapped his holster and removed his pistol as an immediate reaction, chambering a round as Brandt considered which direction he should move.

“You ok?” barked Brandt. The door’s explosion had temporarily made his ears ring.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” said Tom. “Check the back. I’ll stay in the front.”

Brandt didn’t acknowledge, he just took off. He moved smoothly, kept low, and circled to the back of the house. A quick peek around the corner showed no one in the back yard.

The rear of the house had another door and two more windows. Brandt was going to call out, “clear” but didn’t. He would wait a few seconds and see if anyone tried to exit the back. If the gunman knew he was there, the guy may try something else violent. As it was, the gunman may not know there was more than one man outside. Brandt waited. He thought he heard running feet thumping the floorboards inside. Assuming the guy would probably come out the back door, Brandt trained his gun on it.

The noises inside ceased. Brandt crept a stride closer to the door, then went still. He was under one of the windows, low enough to not be visible through the window. He held his breath expecting the gunman to burst through the door any moment.

“Be careful,” Lia had said. “It’s no big deal,” Brandt had replied, not wanting to worry her. He certainly hadn’t expected a gunfight, but he had been in a number of them, he was experienced and smart, and had come out of all of them alive. But he had usually been hell-bent on a mission. Right now, he had no idea what he was facing, or why it was important. All he knew was that a man was inside this house who would prefer to shoot anyone who came a-callin’. Brandt wasn’t even sure it was their man Jamir. His usual cucumber cool wasn’t what it used to be. When he was in the Army, all he could think about was backing up his Army brothers. He could accept his death if it saved them. But now? He had Lia to think about. What would happen to her if he was killed? What would happen to their marriage if he was maimed? He had been a one-man army when he cut down two dozen soldiers on Lia’s island, and then half a dozen more on his enemy’s yacht because his mission was to save Lia or die trying. Now, he just didn’t want to die. Lia wasn’t in danger here. His mind was swarming with distractions and he didn’t hear the extra footstep inside the house.

The window above him shattered. Glass and wood flew over him like a swarm of angry insects. Brandt’s first reaction was to hit the ground and cover. The sound of a near point-blank shotgun blast combined with the sudden burst of glass, metal, and wood would be frightening to even the bravest warriors, and Brandt was no exception. He tucked his head into his chest and braced his arms across them both. He had barely begun to unclench when something landed on top of him.

It was a man. Or something crazed that looked like a man.

The man’s feet hit Brandt mid-back and he was pounded into the hard ground, his pistol tumbling out of his fingers. Brandt’s hand pressed against a garden hose and he reflexively grabbed onto it. The attacker was on top, so Brandt's first move was to twist and thrust his body away, tipping whoever was on top of him to the side. Brandt was able to look up for the first time and see his attacker.

A gaunt black man looked down. The man’s face was tense and trembling with unnatural rage. His wild eyes were tomato red. Spittle flew from his lips as he pressed the shotgun lengthwise across Brandt’s throat trying to choke him. Though Brandt was a strong man, and outweighed and overmatched his attacker in size, the attacker was matching his strength. Brandt swung a fist to topple the man, but the man blocked it easily with his own arm. The impact felt like hitting iron. He had felt something similar once before when he grappled with Mikhail’s assassins. They had been juiced up on Mikhail’s elixir and had incredible strength and healing ability. This one? Seemed similar but looked different. Rabid eyes, like a desperate animal driven to kill without reason. The crazed man reached back to bludgeon Brandt with the shotgun held in his fist like a club, but Brandt already had something in motion. The water hose had been in his hand, complete with metal spray nozzle, and the nozzle struck the man in the head. It wasn’t a severe blow but it made the man jerk to the side. That was enough for Brandt to buck the guy off and yank himself backward.

Brandt’s pistol was closer to the attacker than himself, so he kept the hose in his hand and focused on getting to his feet. The enraged man charged. Brandt had little time to make a plan, but he already had one. The hose coil was behind the charging man, and Brandt had the end of the hose. As the berserker ran, teeth clenched, drool flying, Brandt ducked right and dove forward, yanking the hose taut. A club-like blow glanced off the back of Brandt’s neck, not enough to stagger him, and too late for the rampager to try again. The hose tangled against the man’s legs, sending him stumbling onto his knees. Brandt hadn’t done any damage, and hadn’t bought himself more than a few seconds of time, but that might be enough.

“Tom!” Brandt yelled.

The pistol was a step away now, so Brandt lunged for it, got it, and brought it up trained on the now standing man. Any normal aggressor would’ve measured his chances and found them to be poor after seeing his opponent with a loaded gun pointed at him, but the crazed man didn’t seem to acknowledge his own peril. He brandished the shotgun in both hands, still like a club rather than a gun. Brandt’s mind worked quickly. Two shells had already been fired. Some shotguns have pumps to load more shells, but this one didn’t have a pump handle. It just had two barrels and a flat, wooden handgrip. No shell tube below. The shotgun wasn’t loaded. The nose of Brandt’s gun lowered. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he preferred the guy be alive for questioning. However, the man didn’t seem to have the same concerns and charged at Brandt again.

Two sharp sounds pierced Brandt’s ears. Gunshots. The charging man lost his balance and fell to his left. Brandt swung his head in the direction the shots came from and saw Tom holding a smoking revolver. Tom favored a .38 Special loaded with hollow points. The shells held a lot of powder, so there was a significant bang, and the hollow points flattened inside the target so the slug’s momentum would translate into more knockdown power. Tom had run around the side of the house and drilled the crazed man while moving. Nice shooting. Tom halted with this revolver still pointed at the man, who was trying to rise again.

“You all right?” asked Tom.

“Yeah,” said Brandt. “He jumped me, but…”

The man was already up and was running at Tom, barely fazed by being shot, and even more enraged, with bloodshot eyes bulging out of their sockets. He pointed his shotgun at Tom despite its lack of bullets. Tom squeezed the revolver’s trigger. The hammer eased back.

“Tom, No!” yelled Brandt.

The feral man was a body length away from Tom. Tom held a firm stance as the gun fired. The feral man’s head snapped back, followed by his body. His shoulders crashed to the ground, the arms flailed and flopped like dead weight. Bits of brain, bone, and blood peppered Brandt. The man’s body bounced and twitched for a short moment, then he lay still.

Tom finally let out a breath, his chest heaving for the first few inhales that followed. It had probably been a while since he had killed a man. But kill a man, he did. The last shot was dead center of the man’s forehead. The wild attacker was still, his dead eyes stared up at the infinite sky in unblinking rapture.

“Tom,” said Brandt, with no plan for a follow-up word.

Tom nodded. He kept his revolver pointed at the dead man for a few more seconds, then lowered it. His breathing calmed.

Brandt kept his own weapon trained on the fallen man, just in case this guy had more elixir-like surprises. But in Brandt’s experience, even elixired-up guys didn’t survive shots to the brain. This one didn’t either. Brandt checked the pulse.

“He’s gone,” said Brandt.

Tom nodded again.

“Was it your Jamir guy?” asked Brandt.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him in a while, but it resembles him.” Tom tucked his gun back into his shoulder holster. “Damnit!” he exclaimed.

Brandt picked up the shotgun. He had been right, there were no shells left. Defending against it as a club wasn’t going to require deadly force. Although, to be fair, a juiced-up elixir man had amazing strength and was lethal with his bare hands, so – Brandt didn’t know. It just sucked that the only answers they were going to get from this guy would come from his autopsy rather than his interrogation.

Brandt held up the shotgun. “Empty,” he said.

Tom looked at the gun, seemed to have a frozen moment, then visibly shrunk. “Damnit,” he repeated. “I didn’t know.”

Brandt shook his head. “You couldn’t. There wasn’t time.” Brandt dropped the shotgun and examined the corpse. Tom’s first two shots had hit the guy’s chest. Even on the run, Tom had hit center mass perfectly. Damned good shot. And the hit in the middle of the forehead while the guy was running at him… even better shot.

Tom joined Brandt kneeling next to the corpse.

“Nice shot,” said Brandt pointing at the head wound.

Tom shook his head. “I was aiming at his chest. He dropped his head when he ran at me.”

Brandt was checking for ID, or anything he could find in “Jamir’s” clothing. Tom traced his fingers over the chest wounds.

“Why did he get up? He shouldn’t have gotten up,” said Tom with a faraway voice.

Brandt shook his head. “Probably high on something.”

He finished checking the man’s pockets and found nothing helpful. No ID, no wallet, no receipts, nothing that would offer a lead or a name to either confirm or deny his resemblance to Jamir Davis. Tom produced his cell phone and started dialing.

“Who’re you calling?” asked Brandt.

“Ambulance. I know he’s dead, but it’s procedure. We’ll run him through the formalities, then we can have a good look at him in the autopsy.”

Brandt closed his eyes. He knew something might eventually happen that would force his hand with Tom. The elixir needed to stay hidden, and Brandt’s hoarding of it would be a huge deal, probably a criminal offense if anybody knew. Once someone had a look in the corpse’s system, they would see the anomalies. Knowledge of the elixir would be out in the open. Then the investigation would eventually lead back to Brandt and Lia. Brandt’s only real hope was Tom himself. Tom was a high ranking official in the Special Operations Command, an organization whose main job was to do the right things for the right reasons, ignoring U.S. and international law when necessary. In other words, hiding secrets was their livelihood, and Brandt had a whopper. If he couldn’t deal with Tom, Brandt sure as hell wouldn’t be able to deal with anyone else. It was now or never.

“Wait,” said Brandt.

“Why?”

Brandt put a hand on Tom’s cell phone and lowered it. “There’s some things we should discuss first.”

Tom looked confused. “Like what?”

Brandt wasn’t sure where to start. He sighed and stared at the corpse. Tom did too.

A moment later, Tom said, “You have an idea what’s going on here, don’t you?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You’ve known for a while and haven’t told me.”

Brandt didn’t want to face Tom. “It’s not easy to say. Hell, it’s not easy to believe, or understand.”

“You didn’t trust me?” Tom was trying to keep calm, but the anger and hurt in his voice was obvious.

“I didn’t trust the world, Tom. But right now, I think you might be the only one in the world who can be trusted with this.”

Tom’s anger faded a little. He placed his cell phone in his pocket and looked at Brandt, who returned the look with an intensity that made Tom lean back a little.

“It’s that serious?” said Tom.

Brandt nodded. “And a really long and difficult explanation. In the meantime, do you have a guy you trust to – look at this body without alerting anyone else?”

Tom gave Brandt an appraising look. Brandt had been given the benefit of the doubt up to now, but this was something that could wreck their relationship. If Tom didn’t play along, then Brandt and Lia would be on their own, with Tom as an enemy. And if they played Brandt’s game, it could get Tom fired, or perhaps sitting next to Brandt in a criminal hearing.

“Alright Dekker,” said Tom. “I’m taking a chance on you. Yeah, I’ve got a guy I can trust. We can do this under the table. But if you’re wrong, it’s both our asses.”

“There’s a lot more at stake than that, but I hear ya.”

Tom picked up his cell phone and started dialing. As he did, he said, “We’ll talk on the way back to my office. You’re going to fully clue me in.”

Brandt looked at the corpse and sighed. You’re costing me a lot, you asshole. If somehow Lia became embroiled in this elixir shit again, Brandt would not be able to forgive himself.

“Yeah,” said Brandt.

End of 7 chapter sample.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.09.2020

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