Ildaria took another drink of her Tahitian Treat, recalling the worry and fear of Alicia’s mother and her own rage and painon learning what had happened.
“Did you fix her?” G.G. asked quietly.
She raised her head and eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
He snorted at the question. “I know a lot of immortals. I know your abilities. Did you wipe the memory from Alicia? Help herget over it?”
Ildaria let her breath out on a gust of irritation and then shrugged. “I did what I could.” When he raised his eyebrows atthat, she admitted, “I’m not old enough, or maybe it’s not practiced enough, that I was able to wipe her memory.”
“Practiced enough?” he asked with interest.
“I don’t read minds unless I have to,” she explained. “It feels . . . intrusive. Besides, some of the things you hear whenreading the minds of others can be . . .” She paused and shook her head with disgust, and then explained, “Mostly the onlyminds I’ve read are those of would-be donors.”
“Donors?” G.G. asked, his eyes narrowing. “Immortals haven’t been allowed to feed off of mortals since shortly after the advent of blood banks. Not in North America anyway.” After a pause, he added thoughtfully, “And Punta Cana is in the Dominican Republic, part of the Carribean, which is also in North America.”
“Si, but the South American Council covers the Carribean, Central America, and South America too. Basically anything belowthe United States. It’s just called the South American Council to simplify matters,” she explained, and when he merely raisedhis eyebrows, she added, “But it’s not allowed there either . . . unless you take a boat out into international waters. NeitherNorth American, nor South American rules apply if you’re in international waters.”
“Right,” he said grimly. “And you did that? Took people out on boats and fed on them rather than using immortal blood banks?”
They weren’t really questions, and he wasn’t looking very pleased at the thought. In fact, he was starting to look at herlike he found her distasteful now. Ildaria didn’t know why that bothered her, but it did and she quickly explained, “Not bychoice. The Dominican Republic has some pretty corrupt people, both mortal and immortal.” She paused briefly, and then added,“I suppose they have corruption here too, but the difference is that Lucian Argeneau isn’t corrupt. But down there, the head of the Council, Juan Villaverde, is very corrupt. And greedy. He owns a good portion of the beachfront property, but wants more, and inland property too if it’s in a lucrative area. Of course, he’s had no problem purchasing the property he wants from mortals. He just controls them and gets them to sell. But he can’t do that with the immortals who have owned and had shacks or huts on the land for ages. The other immortals would protest. Besides, some are old enough to be able to resist him and have held the property for a hundred years or longer. Long before they became tourist traps. So Juan has resorted to using other tricks to get what he wants.”
“Tricks huh?” G.G. said grimly.
“Yeah. Some work, some don’t, but the latest trick is that he bought up all the blood banks down there and has jacked up theprices on blood to the point that less affluent immortals are having to choose between buying the blood they need, or payingtheir mortgages, or taxes, or rents, or hydro if they have it. He’s forcing people out of their homes, taking them over and—”She broke off, shaking her head with disgust at the memory of what the man was doing to her neighbors and people she caredabout.
Ildaria took in a deep breath, let it out, and then continued. “One of his sons, Vasco Villaverde, doesn’t agree with whathis father is doing and wanted to help those of us the most affected by his father’s actions. So in an effort to get us theblood we needed, he geared up his old pirate ship, and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” G.G. interrupted. “His old pirate ship?”
“Vasco’s five hundred years old or something and used to be a pirate back in the day,” she told him with a crooked smile,and then added, “Well, a privateer . . . maybe.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his eyes dancing with interest at this news, but then grunted and waved for her to continue.
“So, he geared up his old pirate ship, welcomed any immortal who had trouble affording their blood to join his crew, and . . .”She hesitated and then sighed and said, “It’s kind of a tourist thing. There’s a program where people go out to swim withthe sharks and stingrays. When they return to the landing site, they watch a sort of pirate dance/fight routine and are encouragedto buy from stalls with local goods,” she explained. “While they’re watching the show, our crew, dressed like sexy piratesmove—”
“Sexy pirates?” he interrupted. His voice was serious, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
Ildaria grimaced. “I wore black leather thigh-high boots, a black leather bra and matching short shorts or skirt, and eithera pirate hat or a head scarf . . . and a sword of course.”
“Of course,” he murmured, his gaze sliding over her as if he were imagining her in the costume she’d just described and likingwhat he was seeing in his mind’s eye.
Ildaria wasn’t one to blush, she was too old for that, but she was quite sure she was blushing now under his gaze. She alsofelt oddly warm and a little breathless. Clearing her throat, she tried to ignore his attention and quickly added, “The guysusually went topless, or with an open vest, or an open peasant top with long sleeves, tight leather pants, boots, a piratehat or head scarf, and a sword.”
“Right,” he said slowly, but didn’t sound all that interested in what the guys were wearing. She was quite sure he was still stuck on her costume.
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Anyway, the crew would move through the crowd, picking donors and inviting them on thepirate ship for a
