"Congratulations, mon ami" Jean-Luc said. "Your formula is a great success. Awake during the day-it is amazing."
"I was still burned by sunlight." Roman glanced down at his chest where the sun had slashed a wound across his skin. The rip in his shirt was still there, but the skin had healed. Now, the wound was inside, tearing at his heart. Eliza had caused the wound a hundred years ago when she'd wanted to kill him. Now, because of Shanna, it was sliced open once again.
"Pulse is normal." Laszlo let go of Roman's wrist.
How could it be normal when his heart was ripped to shreds? Roman swallowed hard. "Did Shanna come back?"
"Nay," Connor whispered. "We havena heard from her."
"I tried to save her," Phil said, frowning. "But they had me outnumbered."
"That bloody Stake-Out team," Angus muttered. "Phil and Howard told us all about yer daytime adventure while we were waiting for ye to wake up."
Roman's heart squeezed in his chest. "She's joining her father's team. He'll train her to kill us."
Connor scoffed angrily. "I doona believe it."
Gregori shook his head. "It doesn't sound like her."
Angus sighed. "Mortals canna be trusted. I learned that the hard way." He regarded Roman sadly. "I thought ye did, too."
He had, but Shanna had filled him with hope once again. Roman had fallen asleep totally confused, and now it still didn't make sense. It seemed clear that Shanna had wanted to stay with her father.
And staying with her father meant she would become a vampire killer. But why had she warned him of the slayer behind him? Why try to save his life if she wanted him dead? Did she think somehow she was protecting him by staying with her father? Did she actually love him after all?
"We've been busy while ye were sleeping," Angus announced. "When we woke, there was still an hour or so of nighttime in London and Edinburgh. So we've had every phone in this house busy while we teleported more of my men here. The good news is we now have an army downstairs of two hundred warriors. We're ready to go to war."
"I see." Roman climbed out of bed. Many of the men downstairs would be ones he had personally transformed. If they died in battle tonight, what would happen to their immortal souls? He knew they were good men, but still, they'd existed for centuries by feeding off mortals. God would never allow such creatures into heaven. And if the only alternative was hell, then Roman had doomed their immortal souls the minute he had transformed them. It was a burden of guilt too heavy to bear.
"I'll be with you in a minute. Please wait in my office."
The men filed out. Roman dressed, then went into his office to warm up a bottle of blood. "How's your mother, Gregori?"
"Fine. I just came from the hospital." Gregori slouched in a wingback chair, frowning. "She says she made you swear to keep me safe during the upcoming war. I'm not a coward, you know."
"I know." The microwave dinged, and Roman removed his bottle of blood. "But you haven't been trained to fight."
"Big deal," Gregori muttered. "I'm not staying behind."
Roman sipped straight from the bottle. "Do we have enough weapons?"
"We're bringing stakes and our silver-plated swords." Angus paced about the room, his kilt swinging about his knees. "And we're bringing guns in case Petrovsky has mortals helping him."
The phone on Roman's desk rang.
"Speak of the devil," Jean-Luc whispered.
Roman strode to his desk and picked up the receiver. "Draganesti here."
"This is Petrovsky. I don't know how you managed to get in my house during the day, but don't ever try it again. From now on, I'll have thirty armed guards here, and they'll be shooting silver bullets."
Roman sat behind his desk. "I see my new formula has you worried. Are you afraid we'll come and stake you while you're sleeping?"
"You won't find us, you bloody svoloch! We have other places to sleep during the day. You'll never find us."
"I found my chemist. I can find you."
"You can have the stupid chemist. The little weasel ripped all the buttons off my couch. Now, here's the deal, Draganesti. You deliver Shanna Whelan to me tonight, or I keep bombing your plants and kidnapping your employees. And the next time I take one of your people, he'll be a pile of dust by the time you find him. Just like that Highlander I staked last night."
Roman's grip on the receiver tightened. He wouldn't risk any more Highlanders. And he'd never betray Shanna, even if she betrayed him. "I don't have Dr. Whelan."
"Of course you do. I heard she was in my house with you. You turn her over, and I'll stop bombing Romatech."
Ridiculous. Petrovsky would never stop causing trouble. Roman knew that without a doubt. And he knew he would protect Shanna with his dying breath. "Listen, Petrovsky. You won't be bombing Romatech, or kidnapping my employees, or harming a hair on Shanna Whelan's head, because you're not going to live through the night."
Ivan snorted. "That drug you took has messed up your head."
"We have an army of two hundred warriors, and we're coming after you tonight. How many men do you have, Petrovsky?" There was a pause. Roman knew from Angus's latest reports that the Russian-American coven can muster about fifty warriors at the most.
"I'll be generous," Roman continued, "and say you have a hundred men. That still leaves you outnumbered two to one. Would you care to wager on who's going to win tonight's battle?"
"You stinking svoloch. You can't have two hundred men."
"We teleported some in from the United Kingdom. But don't take my word for it. You'll see us soon enough."
Petrovsky cursed in Russian. "We can do that, too, you know. I'll bring in hundreds from Russia."
"Too late. The sun's already up in Russia. You can call, but they won't be answering the phone."
Roman heard his friends chuckling. They wouldn't find his next comment very amusing. "But since you're in a bind, I'm willing to make a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Petrovsky asked.
Angus, Connor, and Jean-Luc approached Roman's desk with wary expressions on their faces.
"What do you want more than anything?" Roman asked. "More than killing Shanna Whelan or a few Scotsmen?"
Petrovsky snorted. "I'd like to rip your heart out and roast it over an open fire."
"Okay, I'll give you the chance. We'll settle this dispute once and for all. Just you and me."
Angus leaned over the desk, whispering, "What are ye saying, man? We canna allow ye to fight alone."
"Let our warriors fight," Jean-Luc said. "It's a sure win."
Roman covered the receiver with his hand. "This is the best way. We won't have to risk anyone's life."
Connor frowned. "Ye're risking yer own. We willna have it."
"What exactly are you saying, Draganesti?" Petrovsky asked on the phone. "Are you giving yourself up?"
"No," Roman answered. "I'm proposing a duel. Silver swords, and we don't stop till one of us is dust."
"What do I get for winning, other than the pleasure of killing your ass?"
"You will accept my death as payment for the safety of all my employees, my coven, the Highlanders, and Shanna Whelan. You will not harm any of them."
"Nay!" Angus thumped the desk with his fist. "Ye willna do this."
Roman held up a hand to stop further objections from his friends.
"How noble of you," Petrovsky sneered on the phone. "But that wouldn't be much fun for me, would it? I want a victory for the True Ones."
Roman considered. "All right. If I die this evening, all manufacture of Vampire Fusion Cuisine will end." After all, he wouldn't be around to invent the formulas.
"Does that include your synthetic blood?" Petrovsky asked.
"No. Synthetic blood saves human lives. Don't you want healthy mortals roaming about?"
Petrovsky snorted. "Fine. I get to skewer your ass, and I put a stop to your crappy Fusion Cuisine. Two a.m., Central Park, East Green. See you there."
"Wait a minute," Roman interrupted. "We haven't established what I get when I win."
"Ha! You're not winning."
"When I win, your people must swear never to harm any of mine again. That includes all my employees, both vampire and mortal, the Highlanders, and Shanna Whelan."
"What? Then your people remain safe whether you live or die. That sucks."
"It's my only condition," Roman said. "If you want a chance to kill me and end Fusion Cuisine, you'll take it."
While Petrovsky thought this over, Angus and Jean-Luc fussed at Roman.
"This is foolish, mon ami" Jean-Luc whispered. "When is the last time you practiced with a sword?"
Roman couldn't remember. "You trained me for over a hundred years. I can do this."
"But ye're out of practice, man." Angus glowered at him. "Ye've been closed up in yer wee lab for too long."
"Exactement," Jean-Luc announced. "I will go in your stead."
"No," Roman answered. "I transformed you, and I will not risk your immortal soul."
Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed. "That is the problem. You still feel guilty for transforming us."
"Dammit to hell," Angus growled. "It is our choice if we want to risk our souls. Who the hell do ye think ye are?"