Chapter Ten
MINA
That night in bed, I lay awake, yearning for Marius and clarity. My train of thought was very PG until I touched my neck where he’d nuzzled me.
And just like that, my mind ran off with wild fantasies. So wild, I touched myself and cried out, imagining Marius driving me to the very heights of ecstasy — cameras be damned, if there were any.
I lay panting for a long time afterward, wondering about dragons, forever, and destiny.
I woke before dawn and headed to Gare du Nord for my six-thirty train to London. Premier class, no less.
I practically kissed my ticket and cried, Thank you, Gordon!
Ten minutes before departure, I settled into my seat and stared out the window, twirling my hair absently. I brushed my neck in the process, and boy, was my skin warm and tingly. Pleasantly so. The dirty kind of pleasant, I realized, yanking my hand away.
The older woman in the seat facing mine gave me an odd look, and I lectured myself. This was not the time for daydreams about my irresistible — er, infuriating — dragon shifter. It was time to focus.
I knotted my hands in my lap. Focus, focus, focus.
But Gordon hadn’t given me enough to focus on, so I ended up thinking about the previous evening.
The anonymous photo troubled me — deeply — but I was pleased about one aspect.
If getting involved with me was the worst thing Marius could be threatened over, that was pretty encouraging, considering his past. A past I’d never asked the details of and probably never would.
I sighed. Like last night, when I’d resolved to drag every mystery out of him, only to melt in his arms. I couldn’t think straight around the man, let alone maintain any resolve. So maybe a little time-out was a good thing.
The train slowly pulled out of the station, and passengers settled in for the ride.
There were two seats on my side of the aisle, and two sets of two facing each other across from us, occupied by several businessmen.
Their cologne hung in the air, and my super-sensitive nose — a hand-me-down from the shifters in my mixed ancestry — picked the scents apart.
Two of the men wore sea-breeze colognes.
A third had gone a little over the top with an overpowering sandalwood fragrance, while the fourth used a sporty deodorant.
My nose twitched and backed up to Mr. Sandalwood. The scent was pleasant enough, but something didn’t fit there. What?
Then it hit me. Every other man’s cologne mixed with his natural scent, but Sandalwood Guy had no underlying odor.
My eyes popped open, and my gut twisted. Vampire?
The moment my eyes met his, his thin lips curled.
I yanked my gaze away and gulped. Shit. A vampire. On the train. With me. What were the chances?
Slim — unless, of course, I happened to be involved in something sketchy. Say, something set up by my godfather.
I did my best to keep my heart from hammering, which would only excite the vampire.
My mind spun. Surely Gordon wouldn’t do anything to endanger me. Maybe the vampire was some kind of undercover protection?
I dismissed the idea immediately. Sandalwood was definitely not one of the good guys.
Okay, okay — good guys, I’d learned, was relative. For me, it meant supernaturals who weren’t inclined to kill me. Guys I’d gotten to know, like Marius, Bene, Roux, and H—
I halted the thought and crossed Henrik off that list forever.
“Tickets, please,” the conductor said.
Everyone had shown theirs at the station turnstile, so he must have been checking Premier Class for freeloaders with standard class tickets.
Sandalwood held up his phone agreeably enough, but I was tempted to ask the conductor, Could you check for fangs along with his ticket? I think he’s a vampire.
But what would the poor man do? Die defending me?
I clutched my phone, tempted to call Gordon. But I couldn’t exactly voice my suspicions, not with the vampire so close, along with so many other passengers.
I could picture it now — dozens of heads turning as I waited for Gordon’s reply to Just checking if you happened to send a vampire to tail me to London. No? Never mind, then.
Sandalwood held up a newspaper, but his eyes didn’t sweep across lines of print. They focused on one point while he observed his surroundings with his peripheral vision.
Scratch that — not his surroundings. He observed me.
I gazed studiously out the window. Could I text Roux or Bene?
Being followed by a vampire. Dark hair, dark eyes. Appears about fifty years old, but who the hell knows. Any chance you know the guy?
Then it hit me. Weeks ago, I’d been stalked in the chateau gardens. Roux, Bene, Henrik, and Marius had chased away the intruder without getting a firm ID, but their prime suspect was a vampire named Szabo.
I swallowed hard. Was this Szabo? Was he stalking me?
I considered snapping a covert picture and sending it to Roux, but Szabo — if that really was him — would definitely catch me at that. Also, would a vampire even appear in a photograph? I wasn’t sure.
The lady opposite me dropped her bookmark, and Szabo leaned over to retrieve it.
“Oh, merci,” she gushed.
He bent into a slight bow, and that clinched it. With manners that were at least a century out of date, the guy was definitely a vampire. Not a good-guy vampire or even a tolerable, not-too-horrible vampire. I could sense it.
I turned my phone on just as the train shot into a tunnel. My ears popped, and I turned it off again. Zero reception, and there was no way anyone a phone call away could help me now.
The train blasted back into the open, and sunlight bathed Sandalwood’s side of the train. He winced, further backing my conclusion. The older a vampire got, the better he — or she — could tolerate direct sunlight, though they preferred to avoid it.
I gritted my teeth, thinking desperately for some means of getting away from him. Pronto.
Shadow-walking came to mind, but I scratched the thought immediately.
It worked best at a distance, where folks couldn’t make out the details.
Also, I had no confidence in my ability to maintain an illusion in a moving train.
My illusionary double would probably start drifting across space, and the rapid changes in light and shadow would be impossible to keep up with.
So I went back to basics with the oldest trick in any woman’s book: fleeing to the toilet.
I stood, grabbed my bag as casually as possible, and walked toward the toilet. It was occupied, giving me the excuse to walk to the end of the next compartment.
I glanced at the reflection in the compartment door and, shit. Sandalwood — Szabo? — was following me.
I locked myself in the next toilet and stood there, thinking as the train rocketed along. Did the vampire know I was onto him? Did he care? What exactly did he want with me?
The slowest minute of my life ticked by, followed by another, and another.
Someone hammered on the door.
“Everything all right in there?” a woman called impatiently.
I flushed the toilet, splashed my face with water, drew in a deep breath, and exited. And, crap. Szabo stood two steps away with his arms crossed and a smug expression on his face that said, Where are you going to go now, sweetheart?
Somewhere. Anywhere. I turned to hurry through the dining car, and Szabo followed.
A steward came by, and I considered asking for help. But that would endanger an innocent person…or land me in a psych ward.
I continued to the next wagon and the next, desperate to hatch an escape plan. The train went directly to London, with no intermediate stops and no unsecured doors to jump out from. Besides, we were whipping along at about 300 kilometers per hour and would soon travel under the English Channel.
One more car, I decided. I would walk through one more car, then turn around and confront the bastard. He wouldn’t attack in public, would he?
The doors before me slid open. I passed the first four rows of seats, then halted in my tracks, staring at a man napping a few rows ahead.
“Marius?”
It was barely a whisper, but his eyes popped open.
My heart warmed, because his first expression was shy joy. Next, his brow creased into a Damn, I’m busted expression.
Wait. What the hell was he doing on my train?
The compartment door slid open behind me, and a wave of cold, ominous air heralded Szabo’s arrival.
Marius’s expression changed instantly. His eyes spelled murder as he jumped to his feet and stalked past me with a gruff, “Stay here.”
I usually made a point of not following his orders, but my inner wimp declared this a worthy exception.
Szabo’s loathing expression mirrored Marius’s, but step by step, he backed away. The doors slid open behind him, and he continued into the next car. Marius disappeared after him.
My heart rate dropped slightly, only to spike again. Yikes. Would those two battle it out to the death in the dining compartment?
I waited helplessly for a minute. Then I remembered I didn’t do helpless and hurried after them.
Halfway through the next wagon, I caught up with Marius and grabbed his shoulder.
“Wait.”
He shook his head. “He’ll get away.”
“He has nowhere to go.”
Marius grimaced. “That’s almost as bad.”
Good point. What would Szabo do if cornered?
A man looked up from his meal, giving us dirty looks. A long minute of hushed pleading later, Marius followed me back to his seat. The young metrosexual guy in the seat beside his looked annoyed until I flashed him my Premier Class reservation.
“Would you like to swap? I just bumped into my friend here, and we’d like to ride together.”
He jumped up like the Energizer Bunny, snapped a picture of my reservation, and headed off…hopefully not to his doom.
“Don’t worry,” Marius said, reading my mind. “Szabo won’t be interested in him.”
I slid into the window seat and whispered back. “So, that was Szabo, huh?”