stranger. Men on the island seethed with outrage, those of all hues taking offense that she would be so enamored with a stranger that she'd deny their advances.
She hadn't thought she was better, or that they were lesser; Alfonse duBenet had given her a jewel that no man had offered. Respect set in kindness. He didn't presume to own her, hadn't presumed that due to her station versus his that he could simply take her. He'd actually tried to begin the slow process of courting her. That is what had been viewed as scandalous. That was where the true crime had been committed, according to the locals. And she'd blossomed under Alfonse's gifts of emotional tenderness. She'd seen that as his difference, the respect and tenderness he'd offered. Not until the night he'd rescued her had she realized that he was something beyond human. But, then again, so were they.
It was humans that had ultimately abused her, had tried to murder her. A vampire had killed her, but in so doing had saved her. The simplicity of it was both profound and perverse.
Alfonse had released a sigh of frustration when he saw her thinking too hard and had then given her his hand. 'Be my bride and let us seek our revenge by outliving them all. We will have to go to the mainland. They now know what I am, as well as will correctly assume you are that, too. If we stay on this small island, they will find us by daylight… we must leave tonight,
cherie.'
His human crew was already waiting. The ship had been loaded, the hull of it prepared. Protection sealed it. That was the first time she'd crossed the sea. New Orleans eventually became her home, but not before he'd shown her the world. She missed Alfonse so terribly that her heart still contracted with phantom pains when she thought about him.
Shaking the memory, she alighted on a deserted section of boardwalk. The night was still young as she considered the moon. Only a little after midnight. Normally she didn't hunt so early and preferred being out in the ocean breeze as long as possible. But the man she'd fed on so reminded her of Alfonse. Yet his physical attributes were where the similarity had begun and ended. The man's mind was repugnant. His thoughts pedestrian… common. She had done a good deed-freeing a beautiful body of a stagnant soul. At least the physical work of art could decompose in peace and not be mocked by adulterous misuse from the banal mind that had controlled it. He wasn't even a good lover, thus not worthy of being a vampire.
The shadow of a building provided her reentry into solid form near humans. A quick autumn breeze took up the edges of her little black dress as she stepped into the light, giving passerby men a glimpse of her long, sleek legs and a flash of red thong. Brief curiosity and lust filled their eyes. She dismissed them mentally while she listened to their life stories in her head as she walked toward the boardwalk rails to stare out at the ocean. All average Joes; none worth pursuing, and she'd just eaten. Never take more than you need. The casinos here were just not like those in Monaco. The beaches here so unlike the Caribbean or the Mediterranean. Losing Alfonse was a tragedy.
Tears rose in her eyes and then burned away. Time had bled out the tears, but not the pain or the memory. Nightly survival was a game of chance; the casinos were that as well. The baccarat tables and high rollers' dens were filled with men who thrived on risk and survived. That was the energy that drew her and ignited her. That was the energy that disappointed her.
Bored insane she wondered if she might try a new milieu this century… politicians, perhaps. Most were duplicitous, foul creatures that were predatory in nature, so why not? It would be no different than hand-picking criminals to feed from.
However, hiding their deaths would be more problematic. Siphoning a hit-man dry would not create a full-scale investigation. It would go into a cold-case homicide file; police wouldn't expend too much manpower on it. The organization her feed hailed from would retaliate, if necessary, against their assumed enemies, which would allow her to feed off the opposing side for a while until they retaliated-and the authorities would be none the wiser. A beautiful cycle until she moved on. It would all remain in the province of organized crime. Simple, elegant. Going after white-collar political criminals with high-profile posts would be messy, even if more satisfying. Maybe one day.
For now she was stuck in North America until she could develop a foolproof plan to cross the forbidding sea. Daylight was the barrier. One could travel as vapor only so far before depleting one's energy. The specter of being lost at sea at sunrise, decomposing and burning in the water, was compelling enough of a reason to stay on shore. Alfonse had taught her that, too, had taught her how to glamour human helpers to keep their coffins closed in the cargo hull until night. But with new technology and Homeland Security, new maritime laws, as well as the ineptness of this era's baggage handlers were she to dare a plane flight, would mean she'd surely fry in their care. She allowed her shoulders to slump. For now she was not just stuck, but trapped on this continent since Alfonse's demise.
Pushing away from the rail with renewed annoyance, she headed toward the bright lights, not caring which casino she entered. They were all the same; just like the feeds had been. Vegas was a notch up from where she was now, but it lacked a beach, and being a spawn of the Caribbean, the night air for her required surf. Down in the delta the feeds that came into the casinos were so po'boy-southern fried that they threatened to make her kill sloppily in outrage. She'd had to move from there, and her beloved New Orleans just wasn't the same since the flood.
Miami had potential, but there was so much competition to feed on the drug lords that often territorial plunder wars broke out amongst her kind, and she didn't need the hassle. Each coven was so protective of its land rights. Same with LA; California was another world. The northeastern seaboard held the greatest potential at the moment, as did the Connecticut tract, or going up into Michigan and over into Canada. Still, one had to be careful of regional vampire politics. She was older than most, but was also made by Alfonse-whom many had ill feelings about because he'd been merciless in enforcing his code of ethics:
Never the innocent, never take more than you need. Gorging orgies had been put to a stop in his region. Making children was considered heresy in Alfonse's book.
He had garnered formidable enemies because of his extreme views… because of his extreme mercy toward humans. For that mercy, they had colluded to mercilessly expose him to sunlight in a devastating coup. The only thing that had saved her was another male wanted her for himself. Her face became tight as thoughts of vengeance tainted her mood. Yes, she'd played along until she could return the favor of sunlight exposure, but that had left her alone, an outcast from polite vampire society. That was the main reason she couldn't trust a cargo ship or flight abroad.
However, Montreal was beautiful and Quebec was her refuge when she needed a taste of Europe, albeit neither was a seaside town. But up there, any death of a local human was a big deal in that pristine environment and created too much attention. So, until circumstances changed, or her code of feeding off those who'd been predators changed, she was stuck.
How did one stop missing a man that she'd loved for more than two hundred years?
She kept walking until the click of her high heels against the marble pierced her senses. Sometimes she lived so deeply inside her own head that she had to remember where she was and had to remember to keep up the tedious facade of being engaged in the moment, caring about the mundane goings on of human existence. Had to fit in, be unobtrusive in their world. Had to stay away from the mirrors and reflective surfaces that were all the rage in the chic hotels. Wanted a vodka martini and hated that she had to find a feed who was drinking one and then had to entice him somewhere for just a sip from his veins. All this waiting, when she was a woman of action. Tonight, she wanted to be anywhere but here, but Atlantic City would just have to do.
Frustrated, she found a black jack table and sat with a flop.
'Bad night?' the dealer asked with a smile.
She stared at his warm hazel eyes and dark brown skin, enjoying the way his mouth moved for a moment before she materialized a stack of chips in her clutch bag and then withdrew them to slide them onto the table. 'Just a slow start, but the night is young.'
He nodded, appraising her physique for a second and then dealt her cards. She studied him before looking down at her cards; he couldn't have been more than twenty-five, with his sexy chocolate self.
'Black jack,' she said quietly, and then pushed the five thousand dollars worth of chip winnings back in his direction as a tip. He was cute. Too young with too much of a future to dine on. She stood as he gaped.
'You sure, Miss?' He looked from the stack to her and then over to his pit boss.
'As ever,' she murmured, blowing him a sexy kiss. 'Do something positive with it. A mind is a terrible thing to waste.' She made eye contact with the older pit boss to be sure the young dealer wouldn't get in trouble-he hadn't stolen the chips, it was her tip, her choice. The pit boss nodded. Now she could leave. This is what acute boredom did, made one find little stupid things to engage in to give one's life meaning.
She turned to leave but the young dealer's energy reached out to try to hold her. She could feel him summoning the nerve to ask a simple question, curiosity about to cost him dearly. Curiosity always killed the cat, and sometimes satisfaction brought it back. He was a handsome cat, even if curiosity had the potential to kill him. But he wasn't a keeper, not likely to get brought back.
'What's your name?'
She half turned and offered him a half-smile. 'Not important. And… no… I don't want to meet you later when you get off your shift. Just enjoy the cash and stay healthy, baby.'
'Okay, I can do that,' he said, seeming disappointed as she strode away.
She shook her head and chuckled softly to herself. Men. They always wanted more than the bargain. Five grand wasn't enough; he wanted sex, too? Maybe she would just head toward the poker tables… or just go out to sit under the stars to allow the night to pass without incident.
He stared at the security monitors, running back the images that didn't make sense. A chair had moved away from the table by itself. Chips had appeared on the table and the dealer looked as though he was talking to himself. He'd dealt, and cards flipped where no one was seated. Then what looked like five thousand in winnings had gotten pushed back to the dealer. The kid had even checked with the pit boss, who nodded. Chips slid toward him as he spoke to the nothingness.
It was time to take a break.
Obviously his head was all screwed up. Either someone had slipped him a mickey or he was finally having that nervous breakdown that he should have had five years ago. But he was so fuckin' close! No one else had seemed to notice; it had gone by in a flash.
'Yo, Tony, you okay?' A burly member of the security team stared at him seeming worried. 'All of a sudden you don't look so good. Like you seen a ghost, or somethin'.'
He dabbed at the sweat beading his brow. 'I'm cool, man, just need a few. Cover for me? I need to go take a walk.'
Several pairs of eyes regarded him, eyes he knew he could never fully trust. He wasn't one of them, but had worked his way inside their organization through years of deception. And still, he was only in the outer layers of their hierarchy.
'Sure thing, man. Take ten.'
He nodded, studying their predatory eyes before slipping out of the casino floor monitoring room. Maybe he was losing it, if they could see it so clearly. Sharks could always sense blood in the water from miles away, and from what Fat Joe had said and the expression on his face, it was obvious he was bleeding to death. But
