Bite (Vampire Hunter 8.5)

One of these days she was going to have to tell them what she’d become. But any conversation that began, “Well, Dad, I picked up this vampire in a bar…” couldn’t go anywhere but downhill.

CAROLINE tracked the swordsman down in an elegant brick Georgian that looked like a set in My Fair Lady. The massive double doors opened automatically when she stepped up to them, but once inside, the building seemed as empty as the rest of Avalon. She wondered where the heck everybody was. The place had seemed crowded enough when she’d arrived with Dominic. Then, poof! Instant ghost town.

Was it something she said?

He was here, though. This close, Caroline could feel him—strength and masculinity, powerful and dark and frightening.

Her favorite flavor.

Cut that out, Caroline, she told herself sternly. You’re on a fangfree diet, remember?

Following that psychic pull, she walked down a short corridor past stained glass windows, heavily carved wainscoting, and a chandelier dripping with crystals shaped like daggers. Yet another set of intimidating doors swung slowly open. Caroline resisted the temptation to give them a magical creak.

The first thing she saw was a walnut bar the length of an aircraft carrier, equipped with more brass than the Boston Pops and more crystal than Tiffany’s. Around it stood walnut tables and massive armchairs upholstered in oxblood leather. Other than the swordsman, there was no one in sight.

He sat in an armchair wearing a full suit of plate armor that gleamed gold in the dim lighting. A great helm sat on the table at his elbow, next to a pair of gauntlets. His long sword leaned against the arm of the chair, its hilt encrusted with gems.

Damn, he looked more gorgeous and romantic than he had in the vision. Black hair lay tangled around shoulders broad enough for an Olympic gymnast. His face was equally broad and exotic, with an arrogant Roman nose and cheekbones so high and sharp, they could grate female hearts into pâté.

He turned to look at her as she entered, one brow lifted, his eyes a smoky blue that gave his harshly handsome face a hint of the poet.

All of which provided a marked contrast to the bottle of Jack Daniels he balanced on one knee.

“You just sit around in full armor?” Damn, she’d kill for a can opener. “Doesn’t it chafe?”

“It’s enchanted. I’ve worn less comfortable Armani.” The swordsman squinted at her through the smoke curling from his thick black stogie. Instead of the usual cigar reek, it smelled masculine and exotic, a hint of magic giving the smoke a faint glow. “Don’t believe I know you, kid. And I thought I knew every Maja in the Mageverse.” White teeth flashed. “Most of ’em in the biblical sense.” Flicking ashes into a crystal ashtray sitting beside his helm, he took another puff. His hand was big, square, and scarred, but his lips looked impossibly erotic as they closed around the cigar.

She dragged her wandering attention away from all the carnal ideas that mouth gave her. “I’m Caroline Lang.” And how was she supposed to explain the situation without sounding like an even bigger idiot than usual? “I’m new here.”

The swordsman stood to shake her extended hand. His touch did devastating things to her concentration. “Hell of a time to join the business.” He nodded at the nearest chair. “I’m Galahad. Have a seat.”

“Galahad? The Galahad?” When he lifted an amused brow, she mechanically moved to take the chair he’d indicated.

Gorgeous old tales spun through her memory. Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and knight of the Round Table. So pure of spirit, he alone of all Arthur’s knights was fit to find the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ.

The legends had neglected to mention he was a vampire.

They’d gotten the part about the Holy Grail wrong, too, according to the vamp who’d made her a witch. Assuming Count Rat Bastard hadn’t lied about that the way he had about everything else. For one thing, it wasn’t holy.

According to Dominic, the cup actually belonged to Merlin himself, who used a series of tests to determine the worthiness of the knights and ladies of Camelot. Those who passed were allowed to drink from the Grail, which magically transformed them. The women became magic-using witches—Majae—while the men became warrior vampires, or Magi. Collectively, they were known as Magekind, the immortal guardians of Man.

The Magekind were a fertile lot, but their children were born mortal. The Latents, as they were called, carried a genetic trait called Merlin’s Gift that could transform them into Magekind.

If, that is, the adult Latent made love to a Maja or Magus at least three times. Repeated sexual contact triggered the Gift, transforming the Latent in an explosion of magic. Without that contact, the child grew old and died like anybody else, except for passing the trait on to his own Latent descendants. Sometimes the Gift passed unused through so many generations, the Latents themselves forgot its existence.

Which is how Caroline became a witch after meeting Dominic Bonnhome in a bar. He’d spent the next month romancing her—wine, roses, expensive dinners. She’d just lost her teaching job to state education cutbacks, and she was feeling all too vulnerable. Dominic seemed the perfect antidote: handsome, seductive, fantastic in bed. A dream lover who anticipated her every need and fulfilled each and every one of them. What more could a girl want?

Then he told her he was a vampire. Didn’t it just figure? The man of her dreams was a nutball. What was worse, he swore she was a descendent of one of the knights of the Round Table. She was getting ready to call the little men in white coats when he turned into a wolf.

What a relief.

So when he’d offered her immortality, measureless power, and a role in saving the world with him by her side forever, she’d jumped at it like the lovesick idiot she’d been. The next thing she knew, it felt like the power of the cosmos was pouring into her on the end of Dominic’s dick. Suddenly she was a Maja, mistress of mind-blowing magical powers. Scary as hell, but what a kick.

It only got better when he showed her how to create a magic gate to Avalon. She thought she’d died and gone to cheerleader heaven.

Which was when her dream lover dropped her like a coyote-ugly sorority girl the morning after a drunken frat party. Ooops. Her Maja trainer later told her Dominic was a professional seducer whose job was romancing promising Latents. She’d been suckered.

Now the latest vampire in her life was watching her through the smoke of his cigar. Sir Galahad himself. She could tell just by looking at him that he was going to be bigger trouble than Dominic.

“Ninety percent of what you’ve heard about me is bull-shit,” Galahad told her.

“Yeah? My trainer said you Round Table guys are stone killers who go through women like toilet paper.” Keep your distance, Sir Fangsalot.

He stuck the cigar between his fangs and grinned around it. “You got me on the first part. Not sure about the second.” Puffing, he allowed an artistic pause to develop. “I’ve never used toilet paper. Last time I took a dump, Europe was sliding into the Dark Ages.” Before she could think of a suitable response to that one, he flicked his cigar into the ashtray. “So what brings you to the Lords’ Club, Caroline? You do realize the Ladies’ Club is across the street, right?”

Apparently Sir Galahad was a sexist jerk. That made things a lot easier. “I guess you didn’t get the memo. Men and women are equal now.”

He gave her a long look that somehow made her feel like a bitch. “Maybe, but witches are better than everybody. Which is why there are two clubs. All that blood and sex is so distasteful.”

And maybe she needed to quit being so defensive before she alienated the only guy who could help her. “That’s what I get for making assumptions.”

“I forgive you.” He stretched out his long legs, mailed heels clanking on the hardwood floor as he studied her. “Mostly because of those shorts. Is that fabric, or just a layer of magical spray paint?”

Caroline glanced down. She wore the same snug denim cutoffs and cropped T-shirt she’d had on when she sat down to watch TV. “I forgot I was wearing these. I came right over when I had the vision.”

“Yeah, I figured I didn’t owe this little encounter to good Karma.” He rolled out of his chair with a boneless grace that suggested he wasn’t kidding about the enchanted armor. Caroline followed as he sauntered over to the bar and pulled a glass down from an overhead rack. “I assume this vision did not involve you, me, and a pair of fur-lined handcuffs.”