But first things first…
Chance kicked free out of the bucket and ripped the lock off his chains with one hard tug. Then, after a few minutes of unwinding and shaking the last of the cement globs from his feet, he began to ascend toward the surface.
If he had his choice, he'd swim after Robert's boat and drink them all until his stomach bulged, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Someone else had Frazier Spaga. Could Robert have guessed correctly? Was it the Salucci brothers, and they hadn't bragged about it because they were more disciplined than Robert realized?
There was only one way to find out.
Robert's boat was moving at a good clip. None of the men were on the aft side anymore, thus they missed seeing Chance's head pop out from the waves as he began to swim back toward the city.
Chapter 7
Isabella looked up as the door to her restaurant banged open. Her heart sank when she saw it wasn't Chance. She'd stayed up all night, but there had been no word from him. Her stomach seemed formed into a perpetual knot of anxiety, and the look on Robert, Paul, and Ritchie's faces as they strode inside only made it worse. It was just a few minutes after two. Her place didn't open until five. Whatever they were here for, it wasn't dinner.
"Frank, Steven, Ed, get outta here," Robert ordered.
Her three chefs gave her an apologetic look as they exited out the back. Isa straightened her shoulders, trying to calm her sudden onslaught of fear. Where was Chance? God, had something happened to him? Had he gotten caught trying to get Frazier away? What if they'd both been hurt—or worse?
"What's going on?" she asked, glad her calm voice belied the lurch in her stomach.
Robert smiled as he came across the room. Ritchie and Paul took up flanking positions on either side of the restaurant's entrance. Robert gave her a kiss on the cheek, and it was all Isa could do not to wipe it away with her butter-smeared hands.
"Just wanted to see my wife-to-be, is all. Nothin' wrong with that, is there? You workin' hard, baby? Not for long. Once we're married, you're quitting this job, but don't worry. Paul's taking over runnin' the place, so you won't have to slave here anymore, but your family's restaurant will still stay in business."
Anger blossomed in her. Oh, she could just imagine how Paul would take over the running of this place. More laundering would get done here than across the street at the dry cleaners. If Isa would have had a gun at that moment, she'd have shot Robert where he stood.
"This is my restaurant, and I'll work here as long as I want to."
Robert slapped her. It wasn't a hard blow, but enough to make Isa's cheek sting.
"You listen to me," he said, voice low and resonating as he seized her shoulders and pulled her near. "I've been real patient with you, Isa. A true gentleman, because a man needs to be considerate of the future mother of his children. I let you work here when you should be with my sister planning our wedding. I let you tell me we're not having sex until we're married. I let your miserable brother live when by all rights, I shoulda put a bullet in his head when I caught him snooping around my house. I let all those things happen, but I will not let you disrespect me in public. You got spirit, kid. I like that, but there's a time and a place. Don't make me remind you again."
Isa touched her cheek, almost abandoning her promise to Frazier right then, because she would not, could not pretend to be this man's fiancée—his property—a single moment longer. She even opened her mouth to say the words, but then a voice stopped her.
"Take your hands off her."
Relief flooded through Isa. It was Chance! He wasn't hurt, thank God, and…why did Paul just drop his gun?
"You're dead," Paul breathed. His face was stark white, and his hand shook as he made the sign of the cross. "I shot you in the head and threw your weighted-down body in the river!"
Isa's eyes bulged at that.
"I am dead," Chance agreed calmly behind her. "And yet I'm still standing here. Makes you wonder how, doesn't it?"
Ritchie seemed equally shaken. He crossed himself too, and Isa heard him mutter the familiar Latin incantation: "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…"
Even Robert looked like he'd seen a ghost, which sent a chill up Isa's spine. No one was denying Paul's statement that he'd shot Chance in the head. That wasn't something you'd walk away from afterward, but here Chance was, announcing that he was dead and yet he still wasn't going anywhere. Could he have hypnotized them into thinking Paul had shot him? Was such a thing even possible?
Isa swung around to look at Chance, and there was something in his gaze that froze her. She remembered the cool feel of his skin on hers, the way his eyes seemed to change colors, and how he'd gotten into her five-story-high home through the window when there wasn't any fire escape. There was only so much skill or hypnotism could account for. So if it wasn't that…
Chance met her stare levelly, as if he knew what was brewing in her mind—and wasn't denying any of it. Once again, her grandmother's words rang in her head. Don't think the world contains only what you've been taught at school. Oh no, my dear. That's just the first layer of it… Or Chance himself, when she'd asked him what he was. You're not ready to know what I am, so don't ask me that question when you don't really want a truthful answer to it…
Robert drew out his gun. "Fuck it, I'm shooting you until you stay dead!"
Isa heard multiple pops, saw a blur of motion…and then she was swinging from Chance's grip. Noises seemed to coalesce into one loud murmur, and her stomach felt oddly hot though the rest of her was chilled. She tried to look down, but Chance's arms blocked her. He had them pressed to her stomach even as she realized with shock that they were somehow outside. On rooftops. Moving at speeds that defied any logical explanation.
Then there was a jarring suddenness as they stopped. Chance loomed over her, his face very close…
Oh God, his face!
Isa screamed. Or tried. It only came out as a wheezing cry of denial. Chance ignored that, whipping a knife out from somewhere on him. Those glowing eyes, his fangs…he's some kind of devil, she realized dully. Cold slithered further up her limbs. In nomine Patris…
Chance stabbed her in the side. Isa did scream this time, a high-pitched wail of agony that wrenched out of her soul. There was another horrible, spine-bowing pain as Chance wiggled the knife, and then mercifully, gray encroached her vision. The pain started to fade even as the cold increased. Isa could barely make out Chance's transformed face as he slashed the blade across his wrist next, and then pressed the cut to her open mouth.
* * *
Chance took Isa to her grandmother's. It wasn't far, considering he traveled in a beeline by leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Up here, traffic definitely wasn't an issue.
Isa hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd made her drink his blood to heal her gunshot wound. Digging that bullet out of her side had filled Chance with rage, regret, and fear. He hated hurting her that way, but if he hadn't, her flesh would have knit back over the wound soon after she swallowed his blood. Drinking that small amount wouldn't turn her into a vampire—Chance would have needed to mortally drain her first, and then have her drink far more deeply from him—but it would heal her internal and external damage from the gunshot wound. He wouldn't risk her life by taking her to a local hospital; the bullet had torn through her liver. So close to losing her forever.
As soon as she was safely at Greta's, Chance was going to hunt down the two shooters and kill them. They wouldn't live out the next hour, either of them.
Chance didn't bother going to the front door, in case Greta was being watched. He leapt from the top of the roof down to the side window with Isa clutched in his arms. To anyone casually looking up, he'd appear as nothing more than a hazy blur. Vampire speed defied human ability to track with the naked eye, so he wasn't worried about 911 calls about a rooftop-jumping superman.
One hard jerk broke the lock on her window. It slid up and Chance maneuvered them inside with one fluid motion.
Isa blinked at her surroundings for a second, as if she couldn't believe where she was. Then she shoved against Chance's chest. Hard.
"Let go of me."
She had more force behind the push than she normally would have. Her head bobbed around, listening to noises she wouldn't have heard an hour ago. His blood had done more than just heal her. In the quantity he'd given her, almost a half pint, it had also heightened her strength and senses.
Chance let her go. She backed away from him at once, her gaze flicking around like she expected him to attack. For the tenth time, she rubbed her stomach, feeling the smoothness where there had so recently been a bleeding hole.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Isabella," Chance said quietly.
She let out a derisive bark that stated she didn't believe him. Meanwhile, Chance heard Greta stir in the other room. She must have been taking a nap.
"You were shot," Chance told her, knowing with the instant shock her body would have gone into, she might not have realized that. "I had to dig the bullet out. That's why, with the knife…"
Isa backed up until she was almost to the door of the living room. "Who shot me? Robert?"
Chance's mouth tightened. "No. But Robert pulling his gun distracted me from seeing the other two men outside who were taking aim. Apparently the Salucci brothers got tired of negotiating with Robert, and decided a drive-by shooting would be much more efficient instead."
"Those were the pops I heard," Isa murmured, as if to herself. Then she gave Chance a repelled look that pierced his heart. "You're not human."
This wasn't the way he'd intended her to find out, but there was no turning back. Even though he could erase the knowledge from her if he bit her and used his power, Chance refused to manipulate her that way.
"No. I haven't been for a long time."
"What's going on?"
Greta came around the corner, her eyes wide at seeing Chance and Isa in her living room. Hearing the old woman's heart start to beat irregularly, Chance hastened to reassure her.
"It's all right, Greta. Isabella was hurt, but I healed her."
"Isa, what happened?" Greta exclaimed, giving her granddaughter a hug.
Chance saw that while Isa gripped her back, she never took her eyes off him.
"Grandma…he's not human. I'm not crazy and I'm not making this up, but Chance isn't human!"
Greta tssked. "Well, of course he's not, dear. He's a vampire. I wouldn't have gotten him involved if he'd only been human. He wouldn't have been much use then, would he?"
Isa's mouth dropped. She looked back and forth between Chance and Greta like she expected one of them to suddenly yell, 'Surprise, you're on candid camera!'
"You knew this?" she finally managed.
Before Greta could respond, Chance held out a hand. "I have to leave you both now. Greta, don't open the door for anyone, and if there's trouble, call me at once. Isabella, you know how to use a gun, yes?"
"I, um, it's been a long time…" she sputtered.
"Good," Chance interrupted. "If anyone but a trusted friend shows up here, you shoot first before you open the door. There shouldn't be more trouble, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I'll be back as soon as I'm done."
"Done doing what?" Isa asked, taking a step toward him before stopping herself.
Chance let his fangs slide out while vampiric green lit up his eyes. Their glow highlighted Isa's face, and she gasped.
"Killing the Salucci brothers," he said, and vaulted out the window.
Chapter 8
Her grandmother stared at Isa, not speaking. Isa didn't know what to say either. So many things had happened, she felt like her entire world had been pulled out from under her.
"So," her grandmother said at last. "You didn't know Chance was a vampire until I told you, but you knew he wasn't human. How'd you figure that out?"
Isa brushed past her into the kitchen, a brittle laugh coming out of her throat. "Let's see, I started to suspect something wasn't right when Paul almost fainted at seeing Chance, because apparently, last night Paul blew Chance's brains out and sank him to the bottom of the river!"
To Isa's surprise, her grandmother began to laugh. "Oh, I wish I'd been there to see the look on Paul's face when Chance walked in. He must have pissed himself!"
"That's not the point!" Isa said harshly, which made her grandmother sober. "The point is that Chance is a vampire, for God's sake! And it's like you don't even care. How did you ever get mixed up with a vampire, grandma?"
"Sit down, Isa."
Her tone brooked no refusal. Her grandmother might be as frail as a cobweb physically, but there was still a strident note of command in her voice that said she was a force to be reckoned with nonetheless.
Isa went back into the living room and sat on the couch, scowling. Her grandmother rummaged in the kitchen and then came out with two glasses. Instead of her normal tea, she poured herself a whiskey. And then poured one for Isa as well, handing it to her with a look that dared Isa to refuse it.
"Do you know how old I am?"
Isa blinked, not expecting that question. "Uh, of course. You're seventy-five."
"Wrong," her grandmother said flatly. "I'm a hundred and twenty-six. I was born August second, 1882 , in New Orleans , not Yonkers . When my mother ran off before my sixteenth birthday, I had no way to support myself except one—prostitution." She ignored Isa's gasp. "I started off on the streets, but then worked my way up to a nice room on Basin Street
where the high-class 'soiled doves' lived. Prostitution was legal in an area of New Orleans back then that the locals called The District. Later, it became known as Storyville.
"One evening, a young man walked in and told the madam he wanted six girls for the entire night. Well, you can imagine how we laughed to ourselves at such a boast. But he paid, so we went upstairs with him." She paused to give Isa a knowing look. "Let me tell you something about vampires. With their stamina, six women for an entire night is simply a healthy start."
"Grandma!" Isa interrupted, shocked beyond further words at the thought of her grandmother being a paid participant with the undead in a ménage-a-whatever seven people consisted of.
"Oh, hush," her grandmother said casually. "The man who came to the bordello that night was a vampire named Bones, and he was looking for permanent residents for one of his houses. He showed all of us what he was, and to the three women who panicked, he erased that knowledge with the power in his gaze. To the three of us who didn't, he offered a new life living as his blood donors. We went with him, and he set us up in a beautiful house. Had tutors sent to teach us reading, writing, arithmetic, history, culture, anything we desired. And he gave us the most precious gift of all—the ability to stop aging, for a while at least."
"How?" Isa whispered, her mind reeling at everything she was hearing.
"Blood. Vampires don't age, one of the few things about their legend that's correct, and if you drink blood frequently enough from a vampire, your own aging will slow as well. I lived quite happily with Bones and the other girls for over forty years until I met your grandfather. Then I fell in love, but he had a very closed mind when it came to the supernatural. I either had to choose him and turn my back on everything I'd come to take for granted, or say no to true love. I chose love, Isa, and I haven't regretted it. Following your heart is always the right choice, no matter the circumstances."
Isa drained her whiskey in a gulp. Her grandmother's lips twitched as she sipped more daintily at hers.
"So is that how you met Chance?" Isa asked after a long silence. Then, "Good God, he's not the same vampire you lived with, is he?"
"Heavens, no. I only met Chance once, very briefly when Bones came to visit me after I'd married your grandfather. Then not again before two weeks ago."
This felt like a dream, sitting across from her grandmother discussing vampires, of all things. If Isa hadn't seen Chance's inhumanly glowing eyes herself—not to mention his fangs—she'd swear her grandmother was senile by relayi
ng such a story. Still, there was nothing imaginary about a bullet hole in her stomach that wasn't there anymore.
"But Chance has been walking around in the daylight!" Isa suddenly exclaimed. "I thought vampires couldn't do that?"
"Really, dear, if you were an intelligent species that managed to hide your existence from mainstream society for thousands of years, wouldn't it make sense to plant some red herrings along the way? You know, like fake weaknesses such as a deathly aversion to sunlight or crosses? Then, when people saw you strolling around at high noon holding your rosary beads, they'd think, 'Well, that can't be a vampire,' because they believe the propaganda that's been deliberately mixed with the legend?"
Isa eyed her empty glass before going into the kitchen and pouring another stiff one. No one should have to process this info rmation sober.