Be Still My Vampire Heart(21)

 

"Then I'm helping to even the score. I know what I'm doing."

 

"Nay, ye do not." He straightened, scowling at her. "Ye'd never survive a real fight. I lost count of how many times I could have killed ye tonight."

 

She raised her chin. "You can't make me stop."

 

"Then I'll need to be more persuasive." The look he gave her made her heart pound. "I'll see ye tomorrow." He picked up the stake she'd dropped by the trap. Then he strode over to the rhododendron and grabbed her bag of stakes. "Face the facts, Miss Wallace. Ye're out of business."

 

"You can't stop me. I have more stakes at home."

 

His wide mouth curled up in a smile. "Then perhaps I should drop in for a wee visit. Ye live in SoHo, aye?"

 

She swallowed hard. Her and her big mouth.

 

"Be sure to wear something sexy," he whispered, then vanished right before her eyes.

 

She glanced around to see if he had reappeared behind her. Or somewhere in the woods.

 

No, he was gone. He knew she couldn't hunt without her stakes. Wear something sexy.

 

Was he going to appear in her apartment tonight? Maybe she shouldn't go home. Maybe she should.

 

Damn him. He was messing with her mind. It was supposed to be so simple. Vampires were evil and deserved to die.

 

But he had refused to hurt her during the fight. In fact, he'd tried to protect her. Was it all a game to get her into his bed? And then what? Would he drain her dry like the bastards who'd killed her parents?

 

Slowly she wound up the rope she'd used to trap Angus MacKay. This much was clear. He meant to keep interfering. He meant to seduce her. The safest thing to do was a preemptive strike. Kill him. After all, it was self-defense.

 

Last night, that decision would have felt good. Now, she felt hesitant. Even sad. Damn him. His psychological warfare was already working.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

 

 

 

On the fifth floor of Roman's townhouse, Angus dropped the sack of stakes on the desk with a noisy clatter. He'd teleported to Roman's Upper East Side home so many times over the years, he no longer needed a sensory beacon. The journey was embedded in his psychic memory. He had merely closed his eyes, concentrated, and he was there. Even so, he lifted his kilt to make sure he'd arrived intact.

 

Bugger. He was still swollen. What the hell was wrong with him? It was one thing to lust after a mortal, but to desire one who wanted to kill him? Roman would have a field day analyzing that. Over the centuries, Angus had come to rely on the former monk for advice and counseling. Roman would probably announce that good ole Angus was suffering from some sort of middle-aged crisis, trying to prove his youth and vigor by seducing a beautiful mortal young enough to be his great, great, great, great granddaughter. Come to think of it, that was probably not enough greats.

 

He was being a fool. All he had to do was talk to her. Convince her to quit slaying. Getting her to like him wasn't on the agenda. She would never like him. Why torture himself by longing for the impossible?

 

"Och, 'tis you." Ian spoke behind him.

 

Angus quickly dropped his kilt and turned to greet Ian. "I've just returned."

 

Ian nodded, his gaze dropping to Angus's lopsided sporran. "I thought I heard some noise up here." His gaze shifted to the sack of stakes on the desk.

 

Angus removed his pewter flask from his sporran, using the opportunity to straighten the leather bag. "I was just about to refill my flask. Would ye like a wee dram?"

 

"Aye. Thank ye for offering. Most Vamps would not."

 

Angus headed toward the mini-bar. "Why wouldn't I?"

 

Ian snorted. "Roman's ex-harem opened a racy vampire club, and the damned bouncer there says I'm too young to go in."

 

"Ridiculous." Angus located his bottle of Blissky and unscrewed the top. "Ye're almost as old as I am."

 

"No one believes it."

 

Angus glanced at his old friend with the smooth, youthful face. He'd found Ian fatally wounded on the battlefield of Solway Moss in 1542, and he'd transformed him there in the dark, amidst the groans of dying soldiers. What else could he have done? Leave a fifteen-year-old to die? At the time, it had seemed a terrible, tragic waste of youth, and Angus had thought he was doing the young soldier a great favor. But he had trapped Ian for all eternity with the face of a boy.

 

Angus sighed as he poured himself and Ian a glass. It just went to show him. Interfering with mortals was always messy and tainted with regret. He should never allow himself any sort of feelings for Emma Wallace.

 

"So, I take it ye found the slayer?" Ian peeked into the sack on the desk. "Are these her stakes?"