How to Marry a Millionaire Vampire

CHAPTER 15

Ivan Petrovsky checked the address Katya had given him. "This is it, Vlad. Pull over."

Vladimir located a parking space not far from the safe house in New Rochelle. Both sides of the dimly lit street were lined with tall, narrow, wood-framed houses. Covered porches looked out onto tiny front yards. Most of the houses gleamed with light from their windows, but the safe house was dark.

There was no female vampire Ivan respected more than Katya, and once again, she'd proven herself worth her weight in gold. A longtime member of his Russian coven, Katya was every bit as vicious as he. She'd been the one to locate and seduce the U.S. marshal in charge of Shanna Whelan. With the marshal completely under her control, Katya had easily set this trap.

Ivan instructed Vlad to stay with the car, then zipped toward the safe house with vampire speed. He stopped at the back door and waited for Alek and his harem girl Galina to catch up. They slipped inside the house, their superior vision enabling them to see in the dark. They moved across the kitchen and down a narrow hallway. In the front room, Ivan found Katya and her U.S. marshal on the couch. She was straddling the man's lap, her skirt scrunched up to her hips.

"Enjoying yourself?" Ivan asked.

Katya shrugged. "I was bored. It's something to do."

"Do I get a turn?" Galina sat next to the marshal. His eyes were glazed over. Blood trickled from punctures on his neck.

Ivan waved a hand in front of the lawman's face. No reaction. He was tempted to stick a Post-it on the man's forehead. Room for rent. "So, where is the Whelan girl?"

Katya scooted off the marshal's lap and onto her feet. The hem of her slinky black skirt tumbled down to graze the tips of her black sandals. "Do you like?" She struck a pose, designed to highlight the slit that went up one side of her skirt to the square knot on her hip. With this skirt, it was obvious Katya was missing her panties. Her sleeveless white blouse draped in folds down to her waist, exposing much of her breasts.

"I like. Very much. But where is the Whelan girl?" Ivan glanced at his watch. It was eight-forty. They needed to leave in ten minutes. It would only take a few minutes to kill Shanna Whelan, but he had his heart set on playing with her first.

Katya gave Ivan's lieutenant a sympathetic look. "Poor Alek. Always seeing the boss with his women, but never having a taste for himself." She slipped her hand beneath her skirt and outlined the contour of her naked derriere.

Alek turned away, his fists clenched.

"Enough, Katya." Why was she trying to cause trouble between him and Alek? It was hard to find good help these days—strong male vampires who would follow his orders but leave his harem alone. Over the years, Ivan had executed too many vampires for messing with his women. He couldn't afford to lose any more.

He motioned to the zombie marshal. "I assume you have the Whelan girl in a similar state? Where is she? Upstairs?"

Katya stepped back, a wary look in her eyes. "She has not yet arrived."

"What?" Ivan advanced toward her.

Katya flinched, clearly expecting to be slapped.

Ivan fisted his hand. Tension coiled in his neck, the pressure building till it became unbearable.

When he snapped the vertebrae, there was a distinct pop. Katya blanched. Maybe she feared he'd do the same with her pretty neck. She bowed her head. "I am devastated to have disappointed you, my lord." She reverted to the old form of address.

"You told me the Whelan girl would be here by eight-thirty. What happened to her?"

"I don't know. Bob told her to come here, and she agreed."

Ivan gritted his teeth. "And yet she is not here."

"No, my lord."

"Has she tried to contact him?"

"No."

"I had planned to feed on her before the damned ball." Ivan paced across the room. His plan had been brilliant. Not only would he make a quarter-million dollars, but he'd have the pleasure of watching Roman Draganesti suffer. First he'd suck the Whelan girl dry, then he'd go to Draganesti's ball and toss the dead girl's body at his feet. While Draganesti and his feeble friends flew into a panic, Alek and Vladimir would sneak off to execute the grand finale for the evening. It was perfect. It should have been perfect. Where the hell was the girl? He hated it when his meals were late.

"Stupid bitch!" Ivan cricked his neck to the side.

Katya winced. "She might come. She could be running late."

"I can't wait all night for her to show up. We have to go to that stinking ball. It's our only chance to get inside Romatech without those Highlanders stopping us." Ivan paced to a wall and punched a fist through it. "Now I'll have to go to that damned ball hungry. And there won't be anything fit to eat there."

"I'm hungry, too." Galina stuck out her bottom lip. A former prostitute from the Ukraine, the sexy redhead knew how to pout and how to please.

"There's plenty of blood left in Bob," Katya offered. "I only had a snack."

"Mmm. Yummy." Galina straddled him, licking her lips.

Ivan glanced at his watch. "We have five minutes." He watched as Galina sank her fangs into the marshal's neck. "Leave some for me." The man had outlived his usefulness.

Gregori checked his watch. "Almost nine o'clock. We'd better get to the ballroom."

Roman rose from the chair behind his desk. He dreaded this ball. How could he party while Shanna was in danger? Just the thought of drinking Bubbly Blood made his stomach churn. And now this latest news—Shanna's father was the head of a group who wanted to kill him.

God's blood. Was history doomed to repeat itself? This was too much like the debacle he'd experienced in London in 1862. He'd met a pretty young lady named Eliza. When her father uncovered Roman's secret, he demanded Roman leave the country. Roman agreed, but he hoped Eliza would understand his dilemma and elope with him to America. So he confided in her. The next evening, he woke up with his casket open and a wooden stake resting on his chest.

He went to confront the father, but discovered it was Eliza who had left the stake. Her father had stopped her from killing him out of fear that other demonic creatures would wreak vengeance upon his family. Sickened by the whole affair, Roman erased their memories of him. Too bad he could not erase his own. He started a new life in America, but the sad affair haunted him. Never, he swore, would he risk another involvement with a mortal female. And yet Shanna had entered his life and filled the dark recesses of his heart with hope.

How would she react if she learned the truth? Would she, too, try to kill him while he lay sleeping? Or would she simply wait for her father to do the job?

How had the CIA learned the truth about vampires? Some fool must have performed a vampire trick in front of mortals without clearing their memory of it afterward. However it had happened, it constituted a serious problem. He, Angus, and Jean-Luc would spend most of the conference deciding how to handle the matter.

Roman walked toward the ballroom, accompanied by the men who had been in his office. "Ian, how much did you find out about the Stake-Out project? How many agents are on the team?"

"There are five of them, including Shanna's father."

"Only five?" Angus asked. "That's not too bad. Do ye have their names? Maybe we can get to them first."

Roman winced. Kill Shanna's father? Now that would certainly boost his chances for a happy romance.

"It doesn't make sense to me." Jean-Luc tapped his walking stick on the floor as he walked. "No mortal can attack us while we are awake. We can instantly take control of their minds."

Roman paused in mid-stride. Was that it? Shanna had shown remarkable resistance to mind control. And her ability to read his mind while they were linked was uncanny. It was very possible she had psychic ability. Inherited psychic ability. God's blood. A team of vampire slayers, sanctioned by the government, who could resist mind control—it was unnerving.

"They must be planning to kill us during the day," Angus said. "I'll have to train more daytime guards."

"Mr. Draganesti is working on a formula that would enable us to stay awake during the day." Laszlo glanced nervously at Roman. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Is that true?" Angus gripped Roman by the shoulder. "Can ye do it, man?"

"I believe so," Roman replied. "It hasn't been tested yet."

"I'll be your guinea pig," Gregori offered with a grin.

Roman shook his head. "I can't afford to have anything happen to you. I need men like you running the business so I can work in my lab."

Jean-Luc pushed open the swinging double doors to the ballroom, then with a gasp, he retreated back into the hallway. "Merde. It's that horrid woman from DVN. I think she saw us."

"A news reporter?" Roman asked.

"Not exactly." Jean-Luc shuddered. "It's Corky Courrant. She hosts the celebrity magazine called Live with the Undead."

Angus huffed impatiently. "Why is she here?"

"You guys are celebrities." Gregori gave them an incredulous look. "Didn't you know?"

"Yes." Laszlo ducked his head. "You're all famous."

Roman frowned. His inventions might have changed the vampire world, but he still spent long hours every night working in his lab. In fact, he sorely wished he was in his lab right now.

"Doona let her smile fool you," Angus warned. "According to my investigations, she once ran a torture chamber in the Tower of London for Henry VIII. She was called Catherine Courrant back then. They say she's personally responsible for wrenching the confession of incest from Anne

Boleyn's brother."

Jean-Luc shrugged it off in his usual way. "And now she works for the media. But of course."

"The lads and I call her Porky Implant." Ian was met with questioning looks. "Ye know, Corky Courrant—Porky Implant. Tis a jest."

"I like it." Gregori raised his hands like he was holding two casaba melons. "She has huge tits. They got to be fake."

"Aye," Ian joined in. "They're enormous."

"Okay." Roman gritted his teeth. "Thank you all for sharing. But the fact remains that regardless of the woman's questionable background or her even more questionable… foreground, we cannot remain hiding in this hallway all evening."

"Aye." Angus squared his shoulders. "We must face the dragon."

Ian took a deep breath. "We must be the dragon."

The double doors burst open.

The men shrank back without emitting a single puff of smoke.

"There you are!" the dragon lady announced, her dark eyes gleaming with victory. "You cannot escape me now."

Corky Courrant motioned for her crew to take their positions. Two men held the doors open. A large crewman wielded the digital camera, while a female crew member performed last-minute touches to Corky's makeup. Each of the crew wore black jeans and T-shirts emblazoned with white letters that read DVN. Guests, dressed formally in black and white, gathered in a crowd behind the reporter, effectively blocking off that means of escape.

We're trapped. The only avenue of retreat that Roman could see was back to his office, and no doubt the voracious reporter would simply follow him there.

"Don't even think about running away." She narrowed her dark eyes on the men. "You will talk."

That had probably been her favorite line as mistress of a torture chamber. Roman exchanged a look with Angus.

"Enough!" The reporter waved the makeup person away. She touched a miniature earphone in her right ear and tilted her head to listen to someone's voice. "We're on in thirty seconds. Places everyone." She posed in front of the cameraman, her black dress revealing much of her oversized bosom.

Implants, indeed. She must have gone to Dr. Uberlingen in Zurich. He was the only vampire plastic surgeon in existence, and for a large fee, he could help a vampire spend eternity looking young and beautiful. The reporter's implants had probably helped her nab one of the coveted jobs at DVN. The Digital Vampire Network was still fairly new and flooded each week with hundreds of hopeful vampires, each dreaming of being the next big star.

Catching vampires on film had been impossible until the advent of digital cameras. Now digital technology had opened up a whole new world of possibilities and problems. In fact, Roman wouldn't be surprised if this was how the CIA had learned of their existence. They could have discovered the secret frequency DVN used for broadcasting.

Gregori's phone rang. He flipped it open and stepped away. "Hey, Connor," he spoke softly.

"What's up?"

Roman focused on the one-way conversation.

"A house in New Rochelle?" Gregori asked. "What happened?"

The cameraman cued the reporter, and she instantly brightened with a high-wattage smile. "This is Corky Courrant, reporting for Live with the Undead. We have a special treat for you tonight. We're live at the biggest vampire bash of the year! I'm sure you'll want to meet our celebrities for the evening."

She motioned to Angus MacKay and gave some facts about him, then did the same for Jean-Luc Echarpe. Roman turned away to catch snatches of Gregori's phone conversation.

"Are you sure?" Gregori whispered. "Dead? "

Roman gulped. Were they talking about Shanna? His mind visualized an image of her lifeless body.

No! Not his Shanna.

"Roman Draganesti!" The reporter moved in front of him. "I have thousands of viewers who would love to meet you."

"This is not a good time, Miss Implant." Roman felt Jean-Luc jabbing him in the back with his walking stick. "Uh, Porky. No, I mean—" Damn, what the hell was her name?

The reporter's eyes flashed like dragon fire. Her smile tightened into a snarl.

"Mademoiselle Courrant," Jean-Luc cut in. "May I have the pleasure of the first dance?"

"Why, yes, of course." Corky aimed a vicious grin at the camera as she curled her claws around Jean-Luc's arm. "This is every woman's dream—dancing with the grand coven master of Western Europe. Why, he's practically royalty!" She strolled into the ballroom with Jean-Luc.

Roman strode toward Gregori. "What happened? Tell me." Angus joined him, followed by Ian and Laszlo.

Gregori pocketed the cell phone. "Connor followed Ivan Petrovsky to a house in New Rochelle.

Ivan and his friends went inside. Connor thought they might be holding Shanna there, so he went around back, levitated to a second floor window and teleported inside."

Roman's nerves tensed. "Was she there?"

"No," Gregori replied. "All the rooms upstairs were empty."

Roman breathed a sigh of relief.

"But they did have a mortal captive on the first floor," Gregori continued. "Connor listened in on them. Ivan was furious that Shanna hadn't shown up. Then they killed the mortal. Connor was sore upset 'cause he could only listen. He knew he couldn't defeat four vampires by himself."

"Bugger," Angus muttered.

"Connor heard them receive a call, and then they all rushed out the front door. He went downstairs and found their victim. A U.S. marshal."

"God's blood." Roman grimaced. "He was probably Shanna's contact."

"Bloody hell," Angus muttered. "No wonder the CIA wants us dead. 'Tis vampires like Petrovsky that give us a bad name."

"I don't want to hurt anyone." Laszlo fiddled with a button on his tux jacket. "Can't we convince the CIA that some of us are peaceful?"

"We'll have to try." Angus folded his arms across his broad chest. "And if they doona believe we're peaceful, then we'll have to kill the bastards."

"Aye." Ian nodded.

Roman frowned. Somehow, their Highlander logic escaped him. "So where is Connor now?"

"He's on his way here," Gregori replied. "So is Petrovsky. Connor heard him talking about something he's planning to do here."

"Och, we must be prepared." Angus strode into the ballroom.

Roman waited by the door. The band was playing a waltz. Vampire couples swirled around he floor. Jean-Luc and the reporter danced by, the French coven master shooting Roman a pained look.

Angus was giving his instructions to a regiment of Highlanders in a comer of the ballroom. Ivan Petrovsky was on his way to cause trouble. At least they knew about it ahead of time. It was the unknown that made Roman sick with worry. Where the hell was Shanna?

The clock on the taxi's dashboard read eight-fifty. Shanna was running late, but at least she was no longer being followed. Thanks to the driving skills of her taxi driver, Oringo, they had shaken the black SUV off their trail.

"This is the street." Shanna glanced at the piece of paper where she'd written the address. "Fifty-two sixty-seven. Do you see it?"

The street was dimly lit, making it hard to read the numbers on the houses. They passed a house that was completely dark.

Oringo slowed down. "I think that was it."

"The dark one?" Why would Bob wait in the dark? An icy finger of doubt tickled the back of

Shanna's neck. Bob had sounded strange on the phone, too.

Oringo pulled over to park. "Here you are. I make fifty dollars extra, right?"

"Yes." Shanna removed her billfold from her purse. She glanced again at the dark house. "Does that look safe to you?"

"Looks empty to me." Oringo took a bite of his pastrami sandwich, then twisted in the seat to look at her. "You want to go somewhere else?"

She swallowed hard. "I don't know where else to go." She scanned the area. There were several parked cars along the street. Was that a black sedan? The tickle on the back of her neck drifted down her spine. "Can you drive by that black car?"

"Okay." Oringo coasted up the street, slowly passing the sedan.

Shanna peeked over the backseat. Seated behind the wheel of the sedan was a man. "Oh my God!"

He was the same man who had cursed in Russian in front of Roman's house.

He stared back at her, his eyes narrowed.

Shanna turned her back to him. "Drive! Hurry!"

Oringo stomped on the accelerator. The tires squealed. Shanna glanced back. The Russian was yelling into a cell phone. Oringo reached the end of the street and swerved into a left rum, cutting off her view.

Oh shit. The Russians had found out about the safe house. Where on earth could she go? "Aaargh."

She sank down in the seat and covered her face.

"You okay, miss?"

"I–I need to think." A friend, she needed a friend. Someone who could hide her, loan her some cash. Think! She tapped the heel of her palm against her brow. She couldn't go far. She was almost out of cash now. A friend, somewhere close.

"Radinka!" Shanna sat up.

"What?" Oringo gave her a worried look in the rearview mirror.

"Can you take me to Romatech Industries?" She fumbled through her purse and pulled out the paper she'd printed earlier. "Here's the address. Just outside White Plains." She leaned forward to show it to Oringo.

"Okay. No problem, miss."

Shanna settled back in her seat. Radinka would help her. She was kind and understanding. And she had said she worked evenings at Romatech. There would also be security at the facility. And lots of people working there. Including Roman Draganesti.

Shanna shuddered. No way would she ask that womanizing creep for help. She'd explain to Radinka that she had no desire to ever see Roman again. She only needed a safe place to hide until she could contact the U.S. marshal's office in the morning.

Poor Bob. She hoped he was okay. Memory of the Russian in the black sedan made her skin crinkle with goose bumps. She peered out the back window. "Are they following us?"

"I don't think so," Oringo said. "We had good head start."

"God, I hope so."

"This reminds me of hunting in the savannah. I love hunting. That is my name, you know? Oringo means 'loves to hunt. "

Shanna wrapped her arms around herself. "How do you feel about being the prey?"

With a laugh, he veered into a sudden right turn. "Do not worry. If black car comes, I lose them."

Soon they were outside Romatech. A long driveway curved from the front gate to the front entrance of the facility. Then it circled back through the manicured grounds to the front gate. The driveway was completely jammed with black limousines.

"I get in line?" Oringo asked.

Shanna looked in dismay at the line of cars. What the hell was going on? Getting stuck in traffic with no avenue of escape didn't seem like a smart idea. "No, drop me off here."

Oringo pulled to the side of the road. "Must be something big going on inside."

"I guess so." Well, the more, the merrier. A ton of people might be her best security right now. The Russians wouldn't want a bunch of witnesses. "Here." She passed Oringo a wad of money.

"Thank you, miss."

"I wish I could tip you more. I'm so very grateful for your help, but I'm running out of money."

Oringo smiled, his white teeth flashing in the dark. "No problem. I not have this much fun since coming to America."

"Take care." Shanna gathered up her purse and tote bag, then sprinted toward the front gate of Romatech.

"Halt!" A guard strode from the gatehouse. A Highlander.

Shanna froze while the memory of open coffins zipped through her mind. Don't think about it. Just get to Radinka.

The Scotsman's kilt was a dark gray and white plaid. He eyed her suspiciously. "Ye're not dressed in black and white."

Duh. Was there a law against hot pink? "I'm here to see Radinka Holstein. Can you tell her Shanna Whelan is here?"

The Scotsman's eyes widened. "Holy Christ! Ye're the one they're looking for. Doona move, lass. Stay right here."

He stepped into the gatehouse and grabbed a phone. Shanna pivoted, looking at the limousines. Since when did research facilities hold fancy parties?

She caught her breath. Out on the street, a black sedan pulled up in line. Shit.

She turned and ran for the entrance. She could only hope there was a whole regiment of armed Highlanders inside. Forget the damned coffins. As long as they were on her side, she'd manage to put the coffins out of her mind. Well, not completely.

She made it to the front door, where a limousine was unloading men and women dressed in black and white evening wear. They looked down their noses at her. A few of them sniffed as if she had a strange odor.

What a bunch of snobs, Shanna thought as she slipped inside. The wide foyer was filled with elegant men and women, gathered into groups and chatting. She weaved around them, aware of the haughty stares they angled her way. Sheesh, it was like showing up at the high school prom dressed in her grubbies and without a date.

She spotted a pair of double doors on the right, each door held open by a large potted plant. Music and the hum of voices drifted from the room. She made her way toward the doors.

Suddenly she saw a group of Highlanders marching down the hall. She slipped behind a door and potted plant. They spread out, searching the front entrance.

"Are you looking for the mortal?" a gray-haired man in a tuxedo asked.

Mortal?

"Aye," one of the Highlanders answered. "Did she come in?"

"Yes," the gray-haired man answered. "God-awful clothes."

"Definitely mortal," his female companion added with a sniff. "You can always smell 'em."

Oh, please. While the rich snobs kept the Highlanders occupied, Shanna sneaked through the doors and found herself in a ballroom. Couples dressed in black and white appeared to be doing a minuet straight out of the eighteenth century. Other guests wandered about, chatting and sipping from wineglasses.

She threaded her way through the crowd. People turned to stare. Great. With her hot-pink clothes, she was advertising her uninvited status for all to see. She needed to find Radinka fast. She passed a table with a giant ice sculpture of a bat. A bat? This wasn't October. Who did bats in springtime?

She froze in shock when she spotted the open coffin behind the table. It was being used as a giant ice chest. How sick could you get! She pushed her way through the crowd. Where the hell was Radinka? And was that Roman going up on the stage? He'd see her for sure. She hid behind a broad-chested man wearing a black T-shirt. DVN. He was holding a digital camera.

"You're on." The man cued a woman with huge breasts.

"This is Corky Courrant reporting for Live with the Undead. What an exciting evening! As you can see behind me" — the reporter motioned to the stage—"Roman Draganesti is about to welcome us all to the twenty-third annual Gala Opening Ball. As you know, Roman is CEO of Romatech, inventor of Fusion Cuisine, and master of the largest coven in North America."

Coven? Who met in covens? Witches? Shanna looked around. Were these people all witches? It would explain the black clothing and the gory details like coffin coolers.

"Would you like a drink?" A waiter stopped in front of her, holding a black tray filled with glasses. Was he a witch, too? And Radinka? And Roman? "I… uh, do you have something light?"

"Yes! Mr. Draganesti's latest invention." The waiter passed her a wineglass. "Enjoy." He wandered off.

Shanna looked down at her glass. The liquid inside was red. Her attention was distracted by the sound of Roman's voice. God, he sounded sexy. The bastard.

"I'd like to welcome you all to Romatech Industries." His eyes scanned the crowd.

Shanna tried to make herself as small as possible behind the man from DVN, but damn, dressed in hot pink, she might as well be shooting off fireworks.

"And welcome you to the annual Gala—" Roman stopped.

Shanna peeked around the DVN man. Good God, Roman was looking right at her. He motioned with a hand, and Ian ran up onto the stage. The young Highlander turned and spotted her. He hurried down the steps and strode toward her.

"— Opening Ball," Roman finished. "Enjoy." He followed Ian down the stairs.

"Oh, wonderful!" the reporter exclaimed. "Roman Draganesti is coming this way. Let's catch a word with him. Oh, Roman!"

Oh shit. What was she supposed to do now? Trust a Highlander who slept in a coffin? Trust a womanizing Roman who must be some kind of grand warlock?

The DVN man stepped back, bumping into her. "Oh, sorry."

"No problem," she murmured. Suddenly, she remembered the flying bat on the television and the slogan, DVN. On 24/7 because it's always nighttime somewhere. Always nighttime? Was this some kind of witch network? "What does DVN stand for?"

The man snorted. "Where have you been the last five years?" His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. You're a mortal. What are you doing here?"

Shanna gulped. If she was the only mortal around, then what were these people? She retreated a step. "What does DVN stand for?"

The man smiled slowly. "Digital Vampire Network."

She gasped. No, it must be some kind of sick joke. Vampires weren't real.

Ian reached out for her. "Come with me, Miss Whelan. It's not safe for ye here."

She flinched. "Stay away from me. I–I know where you sleep." Coffins, vampires slept in coffins.

He frowned. "Now, give me that glass. I'll take ye to the kitchen for some real food."

Real food? Then, what was this? Shanna lifted her wineglass and sniffed. Blood! With a yelp, she threw the glass to the side. It shattered on the floor, splattering blood everywhere.

A woman screeched. "Look what you did! Bloodstains on my new white gown. Why, you—" She glared at Shanna and hissed.

Shanna stepped back. She looked around. Everywhere, people were drinking from the wineglasses.

Drinking blood. She hugged her bags against her chest. Vampires.

"Shanna, please." Roman approached her slowly. "Come with me. I can protect you."

She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. "You… you're one, too." He even had a black cape like Dracula.

The DVN man shouted, "Corky, you've got to get this!"

The reporter shoved her way through the crowd. "We've had an exciting new development. A mortal has crashed the vampire ball!" She shoved a microphone into Shanna's face. 'Tell me. How does it feel to find yourself surrounded by hungry vampires?"

"Go to hell!" Shanna turned, but there at the door stood the Russians.

"You're coming with me." Roman seized her in an iron grip and swirled his cape around them both.

Everything went black.