Real Vampires Have More to Love (Glory St. Clair #6)

Real Vampires Have More to Love (Glory St. Clair #6) Page 3

The woman’s fist in a black leather glove hit my side window. I admit it. I cringed.

“What the hell? I’m calling 911. Go away.” I pulled my cell out of my purse and made a show out of dialing. Not that I would really call the police. Vamps avoid law enforcement.

“I don’t think you’d do that, Glory St. Clair.” She was pale with dark hair tucked into her black baseball cap. Her black leather coat was long and expensive, and I wasted a few seconds calculating the value if I had it in my shop to sell. Nice. Italian. Small size. Too small for me, that was for sure. She had black jeans tucked into equally expensive black leather boots. Okay, so the woman knew how to dress. How did she know my name, and what the hell did she want with me? Bonus question: Why did she have a sumo wrestler with her as backup?

“Who are you? What do you want?” I yelled through the closed window. “Glory who? Never heard of her.”

“I’m Vivien Westwood. And I know you killed my father. You were dumb enough to leave witnesses alive to tell the tale. Now I’m here to get revenge.” She snarled. Perfect teeth, of course, but I wasn’t exactly shaking in my own Gucci knockoff brown leather boots.

Come on, vampire versus human in cute outfit? Even Sumo Guy, who looked like he could bench press my Suburban, would be an easy takedown. I blamed my earlier panic totally on the men in my life treating me like a helpless female. Naturally I’d fall apart at the first sign of trouble. Trouble? Yeah, that crossbow Viv had tucked against her side definitely qualified. So did the stake her buddy pulled out of his pocket.

Damn. Westwood’s daughter. The billionaire techno-freak had had a thing about vampires. He’d really hated me and had stalked me until we’d had the last fatal showdown where I’d killed him with a crossbow a lot like the one his daughter was toting. Self-defense. No jury would have convicted me. Of course a grieving family member wouldn’t care about that. I looked her over. Vivien didn’t exactly look grief stricken.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” No way was I admitting anything.

“You’re a freak. My father wanted to wipe out your kind from the face of the earth. I’m taking over where he left off.”

“My kind? A shop owner with great taste?” I shook my head. “Get a grip, lady. You’ve got the wrong freak.”

Viv wasn’t listening. She nodded at her pal. “Sean, knock out this window.”

“No!” I scooted over to the other side as the Hulk reached in his belt for what looked like a sledge hammer. I jerked open the passenger door and put on vamp speed to get out of there. I felt a sting and realized the bitch had shot at me and scored a hit. Damn. I didn’t slow down, just leaped over a Dumpster, hearing a clang as Vivien smacked the side of it with what I bet was one of those wooden arrows. I didn’t stop, just kept going, grateful for the dark as I ran around the corner and kept going until I found a deserted side street.

My vamp speed paid off, and I’d left my pursuers far behind. To be on the safe side, I jumped up into an old oak tree and straddled a branch. Then I reached back and pulled a wooden arrow from my shoulder. Ouch. Yep, just like her father, Brent Westwood, had used. Rafe had taken one like it in the hip in the same alley. Wooden tip so if it had hit my heart, I’d be history. Nice legacy, Brent. The nut hadn’t fallen far from the tree. I took a moment to thank a higher power that Vivien obviously hadn’t had target practice lately.

The bark was digging into my backside, and I felt like I was going to hurl if I thought too much about how close I’d come to ending my eternal life. Scoping out the area, I climbed down then took off my jacket, frowning at the hole ripped into the red wool. The sweater underneath was probably ruined too. I could tell I was already healing since wood wounds itch like a son of a bitch. Another Westwood. I could hardly believe it.

Underwear and beach towels would have to wait for another night since strolling into a discount store with blood stains wasn’t exactly a low-profile move. I cautiously made my way home, keeping my eyes open for a woman and a not-so-jolly giant, both dressed in black. Geez. Just when I thought my biggest worries were puff sleeves and buff roommates . . .

My blood matched my jacket, but that didn’t fool the vampires in the crowd. One whiff and it was fangs down and eyebrows raised for everyone in the back room of my shop.

“You’ve been bleeding.” Richard had arrived while I’d been playing hide-and-seek.

“Yeah, well, I had a run-in in the alley. Still not my favorite place to park.” I shrugged out of my jacket, studied the hole, then tossed the thing into the nearest trash can.

“Gloriana, did I hear Richard correctly?” Jeremy Blade, real name Jeremiah Campbell III, stood in the doorway. The storeroom door was ajar, but it took vamp hearing to pick up on our conversation above the oldies station blaring in the shop.

“Hi, Jerry.” I was ridiculously glad to see him and realized I was grinning like a kid at Christmas. “The wedding’s still weeks away. I’m surprised to see you.”

“Don’t change the subject. Were you or were you not bleeding?” He frowned, looking strong and handsome in a navy sweater and jeans.

“Yes. Westwood’s got a daughter. She was going for the revenge thing with her daddy’s crossbow. She got off a lucky shot. No big deal.” I tried to scratch the wound that was driving me crazy as it healed, but couldn’t quite reach it.

“No big deal?” He marched over to my side and grabbed my shoulders, turning me so he could look at my back. I felt him jerk up my sweater.

“Hey! We have an audience!”

“Don’t mind me.” Richard sounded amused, until I heard him grunt. I imagined Flo had either stomped on his foot or tested her right hook. “I’m going out to the shop. Florence, darling, wasn’t there a piece of jewelry out there you fancied?”

“Yes. And I think you’re going to buy it for me.” Flo stopped to pat my arm. “Are you all right, Glory?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” I winked. “Though I did lose some blood. I feel a little weak. I need to sit down.”

“Damn it, Gloriana, this is what comes from going about without a bodyguard.” Jerry eased me into a chair as Flo headed out of the room behind Richard and closed the door.

“Relax, Jerry. I handled the Westwood chick. But if you want to help me, please scratch where I was hit. It’s itching like crazy.” I sighed and closed my eyes when he did just that.

“You said you’re feeling weak. Do you need to feed from me?” Jerry pulled up another chair and sat close beside me.

I inhaled and felt my fangs go on Jerry alert. No one did it for me like Jerry did. He’d made me, was part of me. I craved him like plants crave the sun. And of course I loved him too. I leaned against him, refusing to take advantage of his kindness. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms. My fault. I wasn’t about to step backward a few hundred years into the whole Jerry dependency thing. Though it was so tempting it hurt.

“No, I’m okay. But thanks.” I smiled at him. “It’s good to see you, Jerry. Why are you here? It’s too soon for the wedding. And last I knew you had duties in Los Angeles. Family obligations.”

“My brother is handling them. I had business to take care of here.” Jerry slid his arm around me. “And I didn’t like where we left things. I was worried about you.”

“I told you I could stand on my own two feet, and I’m doing it. Financially and every other way.” Defensive much? Oh, well.

“Tonight’s not a very good example of that.” He gently scratched my healing wound. “She could have killed you.”

My stomach rolled over. It was the truth. And a bodyguard would have been a welcome diversion. As a dog, Valdez had always been front and center when I’d been attacked before, throwing himself between me and danger. I swallowed, my mouth dry and my itchy back suddenly much more than a minor annoyance. It was a freakin’ warning. That the woman would be out there, waiting for another chance.

“Let me hire another bodyguard for you, Gloriana.”

As usual, Jerry had read my mind. And was willing to ride to my rescue.

“No. It’s not right. Just because you made me, doesn’t mean you have to be stuck with me forever. Other vamps make fledglings and let them go. You’ve got to do the same.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Are you comparing yourself to a mere fledgling? You think you’re the only vampire I’ve created? I can think of a dozen off the top of my head.” Jerry stood and walked around the small room. He stopped at the trash can and picked out the red jacket I’d tossed away.

I stared at him with an open mouth. Wasn’t he the one for dropping bombshells. “Since when do you create other vampires?”

“When I was young, I thought I was the next best thing to God, giving people immortality.” He thrust his hand through the hole in my jacket. “Not guaranteed though, is it?”

“Obviously. Do you keep track of your other fledglings? Provide security like you do for me?”

“Of course not. They wouldn’t tolerate it.” Jerry realized he’d just talked himself into a corner. “They were men, Gloriana. You were the first and only woman I turned. I did it to you for love, not power. It was totally different.”

“Right. Women are helpless creatures in need of guidance. Which sums up our basic problem.” I faced off with him.

“Here we go.” He grimaced and threw down the jacket. “I swear I—”

“Forget it.” I knew he was frustrated. He was who he was, the sixteenth-century man I’d fallen in love with. I had to admit he’d evolved more than most men from his time would have.

“I’d love to.” He shook his head when I moved closer. “Why can’t I convince you that I only want to protect you?”

“I get it. And I begged you to turn me, back in the day. For love.” I put my hand on his chest. He was and would always be in his prime. I’d fallen for him in 1604 because he was the whole package—a Scot in a kilt with battle scars. I’d loved him so much I’d been incapable of rational thinking, not even scared of the vampire thing. It had just added to his attraction. I’d been mesmerized by his dark hair, dark eyes and masculine body that knew just how to pleasure mine. That he’d wanted me, a lowborn actor’s widow, had seemed a miracle. I’d have done anything to keep him. Taking on my own pair of fangs had been a no-brainer.