Her offer was very appealing since Ian had no idea what he should write in an essay. "Remember, it is important to me that ye be honest."
"Of course. But get real, Ian. We can't say you're five hundred years old in your profile." "I'm four hundred and eighty."
She tapped the pen on the paper, waiting.
"Fine." He groaned. "Ye can say I'm twenty-seven."
"Great." She wrote the number down. "And how tall are you now?"
"Six foot two." He frowned. "Be sure to say I want an honest and loyal woman. Intelligent and pretty, too."
"No problem. Now smile and show me those dimples." She lifted the camera. "And don't worry about a thing. I'm going to make you irresistible."
Chapter Two
It was close to dawn when Ian teleported to the back porch of Roman's townhouse on the Upper East Side. He punched the button on his Smart Key wireless remote to disarm the alarm before unlocking the door. The kitchen was dark, except for the backlit digital keypad next to the door. He punched the code to reactivate the alarm.
"Hold it right there," a gruff voice warned him. "Turn around slowly."
Ian turned and spotted the gleam of a Highland dagger, held by a large Scotsman by the kitchen door. "Dougal?"
"Aye." Dougal Kincaid flipped on the light switch. No recognition lit his eyes till his gaze dropped to Ian's kilt. "Is that you, Ian?"
"Aye, it's me. Do ye want to see my ID card?"
"Nay." Dougal smiled as he sheathed his weapon beneath a knee sock. "I recognize yer plaid more than yer face. We dinna expect ye back for another week."
"I was bored." Lonely was more accurate, though Ian didn't want to admit it. "How's everything been?"
"Fairly quiet." Dougal retrieved a bottle of synthetic blood from the refrigerator, then popped it into the microwave. "Are ye coming back to work then?"
"No. I still have a week of vacation." A week when he could concentrate on his search for the perfect mate.
Dougal tilted his head as he studied Ian. "I'd heard ye'd gotten older, but 'tis amazing how different ye look."
"Aye, I can hardly recognize myself." Ian had gazed for five minutes at the photos Vanda had taken. And it wasn't just his face that was different. His body had grown so quickly, he'd barely had time to adjust. He occasionally knocked his hand against things when he overreached with his longer arms, and sometimes he tripped over his bigger, size thirteen feet.
The microwave beeped, and Dougal removed his bedtime snack. "We just had a martial arts practice downstairs." He guzzled down some blood. "Ye should have seen it. Our new guard knocked Phineas off his arse."
"Really?" Ian was impressed. It wasn't often that a mortal could defeat a Vamp in hand-to-hand combat.
Dougal headed out the door. "I'd better get to my shower before the sun rises."
The sun was nearing the horizon. Ian could already feel his metabolism dropping. He followed Dougal down the back stairs to the guardroom in the basement. The pool table had been shoved to the far wall by the sofa to create a large open space for their practice sessions.
Ian picked up a chair that had been knocked over and noticed one of the legs was broken. "That must have been one hell of a fight."
"Aye. A bit embarrassing for Phineas, though." Dougal finished his bottle as he strolled into the dormitory next door. A bathroom door banged shut.
Ian wandered into the dormitory, expecting to see Phineas McKinney, but the young black Vamp wasn't there. The sound of rushing water emanated from both bathrooms, so he was probably taking a shower like Dougal. A lot of Vamps liked to be clean before succumbing to death-sleep. It helped them feel less like a dead, rotting corpse.
The dormitory was nearly empty now. Ian remembered a time when there'd been ten coffins in the room, one for each Vamp guard to sleep in. Most of the Vamps were gone now, transferred to Eastern Europe to hunt for Casimir.
The floors upstairs were just as vacant. At one time, there'd been Roman, ten harem ladies, and numerous visiting Vamps. It had been an exciting place. But now everyone had moved on.
Roman lived with his mortal wife and child in White Plains, with Connor serving as their bodyguard. The Vamp guards who lived here at Roman's townhouse worked security at Romatech Industries, where synthetic blood and Vampire Fusion Cuisine were manufactured. Connor was head of security there, but he planned to pass the title to Ian so he could concentrate solely on Roman and his family's safety.
Ian was delighted with his upcoming promotion, but annoyed that it hadn't happened until now when he looked older. He'd started working for MacKay Security and Investigation in 1955, and he'd never made it past second-in-command. Even his best friends had found it difficult to treat him as an adult when he had looked fifteen.
He pulled his knitted jumper over his head and tossed it into the laundry hamper. He sauntered over to the coffin he'd slept in for more than fifty years. The pillow and blanket boasted the red and green MacPhie tartan, the same as his kilt. He removed his sporran and the knife from his sock, then deposited them in the small dresser by his coffin. He kicked off his shoes, then halted with a sudden thought. He'd grown five inches.
Bugger. He'd outgrown his coffin.
He climbed inside, and sure enough, his feet hung over the end. There was only one other coffin in the dorm, and it belonged to Dougal. The twin bed was for Phineas. All the other beds were upstairs.
Well, why not? In a few weeks Ian would be in charge here as well as Romatech. He could sleep anywhere he wanted. He strode from the dormitory and up the stairs.
Usually he had a snack before bed, but tonight he was full of Bleer. Vanda had joined him at the bar around four A.M. to announce his profile was complete, and he was officially posted on the Single in the City dating service.
A third glass of Bleer had boosted his confidence. He'd talked to a few ladies, and they'd agreed to meet him at the club tomorrow night.
When he reached the ground floor, the alarm went off. He froze a second, then realized what was happening. An intruder! And dammit, his reaction was too slow. He shouldn't have had that fourth glass of Bleer.
He ran into the parlor. Empty. He swiveled, tripped over his feet, and stumbled to the keypad by the front door. He turned off the alarm, so he could hear. He caught a slight noise, emanating from the library. He eased toward the entrance.
A gust of cold air from the open window stirred the curtains. The person who'd opened that window had triggered the alarm, and that person was still in the room.
Female. And mortal. The scent of her blood swirled around him, caressing his skin like the touch of a lover. She was his favorite flavor--Type AB positive.
Thank God Roman had invented synthetic blood in 1987, so Ian and other Vamps were no longer slaves to bloodlust. Even so, his body reacted with the same primeval instinct that had ruled him since his transformation in 1542. His gums tingled. He had enough years of experience to know how to control himself, but it was taking some extra effort tonight. That fifth glass of Bleer had been a bad idea.
Her back was to him as she studied the bookshelves on the far wall. No doubt she was planning to steal the rarest books in Roman's collection. The library contained everything from medieval tomes hand-scribed by monks to first print editions from the nineteenth century.
She hadn't heard him arrive in his stocking feet. And she hadn't heard the alarm since it was set at a frequency only Vamps and dogs could hear. And she certainly didn't sense the reaction she'd ignited in him.
He felt ten degrees hotter in spite of the cold December air that drifted through the open window and over his white undershirt. The lamp between the two wingback chairs was turned on low, and it cast a golden glow across the room to outline her form with a shimmering aura.
She made a stunning cat burglar, dressed entirely in black spandex that molded to her waist and sweetly curved hips. Her golden hair hung in a ponytail down her back. The ends swished gently across her shoulder blades as she moved her head from side to side, scanning the bookshelf.
She stepped to the side, silent in her black socks. She must have left her shoes outside the window, thinking she'd move more quietly without them. He noted her slim ankles, then let his gaze wander back up to golden hair. He would have to be careful capturing her. Like any Vamp, he had super strength, and she looked a bit fragile.
He moved silently past the wingback chairs to the window. It made a swooshing sound as he shut it.