Unfortunately, hiding in Sotiris’s lake house hadn’t done much to reclaim that confidence. And now she found herself sharing a hotel room with a big, beautiful hunk of a warrior whom she found wildly appealing, even though he obviously thought of her in much the way she’d thought of the family cat back home—as a comforting presence when she needed a shoulder to cry on.
She sighed and decided she should just go to sleep and hope things were simpler in the morning.
Giving Dragan a final glance and seeing he hadn’t moved, she quickly sat up and stripped off the suffocating hoodie, then turned on her side and began silently singing to herself. She’d been using this technique as long as she could remember. It helped turn her thoughts off, so she could sleep. Although usually she sang out loud, doing it silently worked as well, and she was asleep before she hit the chorus.
DRAGAN LAY unmoving, breathing slowly and evenly until he was sure Maeve was asleep. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into her bed and hold her. He wasn’t looking for anything sexual tonight. It was just . . . he’d been alone for so long inside that stone prison. He hungered for human touch, for the warmth of another body next to his.
He hadn’t always been this needy. He’d bedded his share of women when he’d fought beside his brothers in Nico’s army, and there’d been the women of his village. But having been born to a solitary existence, forever destined to walk alone, it had never mattered how many women slid into his bed. Because he never mattered to any of them.
Until Maeve. She seemed truly interested in who and what he was. Where he’d come from and how she could help him in this world. She was also attracted to him. He wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t see that. But she didn’t flirt or play coy to get his attention, didn’t pretend to be anything other than what she was—smart, clever, and compassionate. She also happened to be sexy as hell, but seemed utterly unaware of that. He’d never met a woman like her, but he definitely wanted to know more.
Which was why he wasn’t going to slide out of his bed and into hers, as he would have with any other woman. Thinking this new sensitive side of himself was a pain in his ass—or more accurately, his cock—he closed his eyes and eventually slept.
Chapter Eight
Manhattan, New York City, NY
SOTIRIS SAT ONCE more in his penthouse, with his scotch and his view, contemplating his choices. While his investigator might still be able to track down the two fugitives before it was too late, he couldn’t wait on possibilities. He’d already invested a great deal of his own power and time in the creation of the device, and he had no intention of wasting it.
He wanted the device’s test model charged and deployed before Dragan and the girl managed to find Nicodemus and return the hexagon. Because once that happened, Nicodemus would pose far too great a risk to Sotiris’s plans. And maybe to him personally.
His only hope was that the girl didn’t realize what she had. That she wouldn’t think to give the hexagon to Katsaros. But if she did . . .
He sat and sipped his scotch, and thought about possible sources for the considerable amount of magical power he’d require for the device. Apart from his own, naturally. He had no intention of draining himself dry when he could drain someone else instead. Vampires would certainly work, if he could get a strong enough vampire. There were definite drawbacks to that plan, however. The truly strong vampires, the vampire lords who ruled the continent and who had magic equal to or greater than his own, were too dangerous to mess with. For one thing, some of them possessed magic that was so dark, so linked with death, that it might not work. His device, at its heart, was about creation. Unnatural creation, in that it was the artificial replication of magic, but creation, nonetheless.
There was also the unusual closeness among the vampire lords as a result of their new alliance. If he attacked one, the others might come to their defense, and it was very possible that a coalition of vampire lords would prove strong enough to destroy him. No amount of profit was worth risking his own death.
So . . . he refilled his scotch once more. What he needed was a widely dispersed population of vampires, large enough to include several strong individuals, but too many for their ruling vampire lord to notice quickly if a few went missing. He considered that aspect specifically. Widely dispersed, yes, but superstitious would also be helpful. Such people were much more likely to explain away disappearances, especially if it was vampires doing the disappearing.
He smiled in sudden inspiration. Mexico. A country with a newly vested vampire lord—Vincent—who was very powerful, but also preoccupied with the need to consolidate his power. Many of the old lord’s people were resisting Vincent’s takeover, too accustomed to ruling their own little fiefdoms with little interference. And many of those opposing him were likely to be master vampires. Weak or strong, it didn’t matter. They’d have enough power to be useful. Most would die in the end, after he’d drained them dry and tossed them aside. But that didn’t matter. Hell, he’d be doing Vincent a favor. And by the time he needed to charge a second device, he’d either have recaptured Dragan, or worked out another power source. And if not, well hell, there were always more vampires in the world.
That made him chuckle as he drained his glass and turned away from the window. He had plans to make. Mexico was calling.
On the highway, somewhere in West Virginia
“WE’RE GOING TO have to stop for gas, I think.”
Dragan glanced over at Maeve. “You think? According to the manual, there’s something called a gas gauge right there on the—” He leaned over to point it out, but she slapped his hand away.
“Smartass. I’m aware of the stupid gauge.”
“Then I don’t understand,” he said, brows arched. “Why does that make me a ‘smartass,” he added, emphasizing the word, which he knew wasn’t a compliment.
She turned to stare at him in the dim light under the trees. “You’re serious.”
“Of course.”
“Well, darn. You look so . . . normal in those new jeans and stuff, that I keep forgetting. I apologize.”
“Please explain.”
She gave him another searching look, which he returned with mild curiosity. “Okay. I should have topped off the tank . . . um, bought more gas earlier, but we got a late start and I didn’t want to take the time and I figured we could find a small town with a reasonable motel for the night and just gas up there.” She sighed. “I was wrong. So when I said, ‘I think,’ it was just me trying to avoid admitting my mistake. Happy now?”
He chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when she turned to stare at him.