The First Vampire Part 9

Ariana stepped inside and was immediately glad she had agreed to stay here. No flat in the city could possibly be as sumptuous as this.

The room had mostly white furnis.h.i.+ngs, but the walls were a deep blue, making a beautiful frame for the garden she could see out the two large windows. She walked over to get a better look and noticed her feet actually sinking into the plush, beige carpet. A peek into the bathroom revealed similar opulence, with peach-toned marble and gold fixtures.

Nancy opened the door on the other side of the room, and Ariana followed her over. "This connects to your private study in the south wing," Nancy explained.

Ariana stuck her head in and saw that the study was small, but complete with all the modern technology she could ask for-but no files. "I believe Ash said Justin would be bringing over some files?" she inquired.

"Oh, one of the salons on the first floor has been designated as the main work area," Nancy said. Her prim demeanor s.h.i.+fted as she giggled. "The other maids have taken to calling it the 'War Room.'"

Ariana smiled. It sounded perfect already.

Nancy, quickly recomposed, made her way out with a polite bow and an admonition for Ariana to let her know if she needed anything before 8:00.

The door closed, and Ariana gave in to the temptation to throw herself onto the giant bed. She lay there for a few moments marveling at the rapid pace of change in her life, and checked her watch often. It was a quarter past 6:00. Just enough time for a long hot shower and then to answer a few emails before dinner.

She quickly stripped and made her way into the bathroom. There was plenty of hot, stinging water, and Ariana stood under it for almost half an hour. Long hot showers were one of her guilty pleasures. Since she had no other clothes, she slipped into the plush white robe that hung on the door.

She left the sanctuary of the bathroom reluctantly, but was happy to discover that her bags had been deposited in the bedroom while she showered. She started to unpack and wondered what was appropriate to wear to dinner at a billionaire's English manor house, finally settling on off-white slacks and a lavender cashmere sweater.

She dressed quickly, grabbed her hair dryer, and went back into the bathroom. She loved her long hair, but she hated having to dry it. Maybe she would go short, she thought, but James had always liked it long.

Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes as she realized she no longer had to worry about what James liked. She put the hair dryer down and held on to the vanity with both hands.

Oh G.o.d, she thought, as tears started to fall. What was the matter with her? He had been about to divorce her anyway.

But he was still her husband. When she couldn't reach James, she'd put off sending back the papers, so their divorce had never been finalized.

In a terrible way, at least her t.i.tle was more fitting. She certainly felt more like a widow than a divorcee, and it was her own fault. She'd refused to acknowledge the fact of her divorce, holding on to memories of her marriage until the very end, as if the divorce were a bad dream. Now the dream had become a nightmare, and because she'd refused to let any of the acreage of her heart go fallow, all of it had burned to cinders.

Ariana wiped her eyes on a towel and re-started the hair dryer. In time, she would change her hair. In time, she would move on. But not yet.

CHAPTER 18.

Samson woke slowly, noticing that no light yet strayed in from behind the curtains of Delilah's single window. He seldom woke before first light unless something was wrong. His pulse quickened as he turned and realized that Delilah wasn't beside him.

He sat up and felt his heart sink as he missed the weight of his long, sacred locks. Filled with dread, he looked back and saw them shorn and still lying on the pillow.

His mouth dropped open, but no sound came. He wanted to scream and rage, but sat dumbfounded. Delilah. The inescapable conclusion tumbled about in his brain, but he could make no sense of it.

He looked around the room, confirming that she was truly gone. She was, but she hadn't left him alone. At the bedroom door stood a Philistine soldier. The man pulled the door open, and a dozen of his heavily armed companions burst into the room. One of them ordered Samson to his knees.

He obeyed, but not from fear. He had never known fear. He had known hurt and betrayal, or so he'd thought, but Delilah's betrayal made him feel physically wounded, unable to fight or even stand.

One of the men threw a robe over him, and they led him into the street and trussed him over the back of a horse like the household goods of some desert nomad. He knew where they were taking him and what would be his fate. The Philistines would kill him.

Delilah had condemned him to death.

He couldn't see anything but the ground and the dusty underside of his unfortunate mount from where he hung, and he wondered if Delilah watched her handiwork from some upper window. The thought of her there, hiding, laughing at him, finally roused him from his stupor.

Samson pulled himself down from the horse and used his tied wrists like a giant hammer. Even without his divine strength, he was a frightening physical specimen. His fists connected with bone and three guards went down in rapid succession before one of them succeeded in hitting him with a short spear.

It pierced his side and pain lanced up into his brain. He staggered and fell forward onto his knees. With his feet bound, he was unable to rise, but he continued to swing his arms, even as the rest of the guards a.s.sailed him. Blows rained down on his head and upper body. A well-placed kick cracked one of his ribs and sent him over on his side into the dirt. More kicks followed. Still Samson would not stay down.

He propped his weight on his bound arms, trying to stand. Another kick sent his elbow popping in the wrong direction. He felt the tendons tear and bones snap. A dagger followed his broken forearm into the dirt, pinning it there in a b.l.o.o.d.y pool. Staked to the ground, there was little he could do, but he flailed on, taking blow after blow, until he lost so much blood that consciousness finally, mercifully, left him to his fate.

Ash woke before the sun had set. There were no windows in his room, of course, but he always knew the position of the sun. And he always rose early when he dreamed of her.

He dressed quickly and grabbed his PDA from the nightstand. The orange light was flas.h.i.+ng, and Ash's brow furrowed as he listened to the message.

Quickly he returned the call.

"Justin Markham here," a voice answered on the third ring.

Justin was human, but he was a trusted friend and had worked for Ash for over a decade. His official t.i.tle was financial advisor, but since he knew what Ash was, he occasionally pitched in and filled more secretive roles.

"Justin, it's Ash. I just got your message. What's going on at Hemogen?"

"Hi, Ash," Justin said brightly. "Are you back in-country?"

"Yes, I'm at the manor. I flew in last night. I hope I didn't need to stay in New York?"

"No, no," Justin said. "I'm not even sure there is anything going on at Hemogen. I just figured I should let you know the chief technician out there thinks some notes and samples may have been taken from the lab."

"He thinks?" Ash asked. "What does that mean? Either we had a break-in or we didn't."

"That's just it," Justin explained. "There wasn't any obvious evidence of a break-in; they haven't even called the police, but Faulkner is positive the samples were not just misplaced. The notebook he's not as sure about, but I think it can't be coincidence."

"Do you suspect corporate espionage or something else?" Ash asked.

"I don't know," Justin responded. "Both the notes and the samples relate to the synthetic blood research, which could be lucrative if they ever succeed, but that's quite a remote possibility at present. I would have expected any thief worth his salt to target the more advanced disease cures Hemogen has been working on."

Ash was silent while he turned the matter over in his head.

"It's probably nothing to worry about," Justin pointed out. "I'm told the notes and samples are unlikely to be of any real help to anyone in making marketable synthetic blood."

"That may be," Ash said, making up his mind, "but if anyone went to the trouble to steal them, I'd like to know why. Call Tom Pinkney."

"Are you sure he's up to it?" Justin asked. "We've never used him for anything more than background checks in the past. He's been off the force for quite a while now."

"He's up to it," Ash said. "Plus, I want to keep this quiet. Get him contact information, surveillance tapes, whatever he needs to figure out if it was an inside or an outside job. Then we'll go from there."

Ash heard a pencil scratching against paper in the background.

"Okay, then," Justin said, "I'll give him a call first thing in the morning."

"Fine," Ash said, already eager to be done with this conversation.

"Oh, how was New York?" Justin asked. "Did you decide on any new projects?"

Ash waited the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat, wondering if he should tell his friend the truth.

"I did," he said guardedly, "but not any of the ones we had discussed."

"Oh?" Justin's voice registered mild surprise. "Why's that? Something better come along?"

Ash grinned. He couldn't help it. "You could say that, I suppose."

"What's going on, Ash?" Justin said, clearly unused to the playful side of Ash's personality.

"You won't believe this," Ash said, "but I found her. I finally found her-working at a hedge fund."

Nothing clicked for Justin. "Found who?" he asked. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Delilah."

The word hung heavy between them for longer than Ash would have liked.

"Are you sure?" Justin said finally. "I mean, you couldn't possibly be mistaken?"

He sounded hopeful, and Ash suddenly regretted telling him.

"It's her," he answered, trying not to grip the small phone so tightly as to break it.

"Well," Justin said after another long pause, "if she's as bad as you say," Ash could hear when he started grinning on the other end of the line, "I can't wait to meet her."

Ash frowned. "You'll get your chance, actually. She's here."

There was another stunned silence. "Here, as in London?" Justin queried.

"Here, as in already at the manor."

"Wow," Justin said, exhaling loudly. "For a man with all the time in the world, you certainly didn't waste any. How'd you manage that?"

Ash chuckled. "I hired her," he said. "I'm going to put some money under the management of her company, Tailwind Investments. She's going to be managing the transition of funds from here, so I need you to come out tomorrow and bring everything she'll need to start the process."

"Tomorrow?" Justin exclaimed.

"Yes," Ash confirmed. "I told her we'd been discussing this move for some time, so you have to seem prepared."

Justin snorted. "Lucky for you we had been planning something along these lines. I've even heard good things about Tailwind, not that I suspect you care."

"Not really," Ash said. No price was too high for the reward he had in mind.

Justin was quiet for a moment, and Ash sensed a change in his friend.

"Tell me," Justin said, "how does this little scene end?"

"The way I always planned," Ash replied. "Like for like."

"So once you've won her affections, given her back her memories, and had your long overdue lovers' quarrel-what then?"

"Then I rip her heart out."

Justin's flip tone disappeared. "Ash, I hope you mean that figuratively."

Ash wasn't sure.

"Just don't do anything until I get there, Ash. Okay?"

No reply.

"Ash?"

"She will be here when you get here."

Ash knew Justin wanted to comment on the weakness of that promise, but he wisely changed the subject.

"Did you ever find out anything about Toria's missing vampires?" he asked.

Ash frowned into the phone. "No, nothing, but the disappearances seem to have tapered off at least."

"Good," Justin said. "With everything else that's going on, we need to tackle one problem at a time."

CHAPTER 19.

Ariana hit "send" on a final message to Roger just as the expected knock sounded at her bedroom door.

"Hi Nan-" Ariana stopped before getting the last syllable out. "I mean, hi, Ash. I was expecting Nancy."

"I'm sorry to disappoint," he said, his voice as low and primeval as Ariana remembered. As he spoke, his eyes raked her from head to toe, and Ariana felt heat trail down her body.

"I trust you had a good trip?" he said, meeting her gaze once more.

Ariana nodded, feeling oddly tongue-tied. "The trip was fine."