The First Vampire Part 6

James eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry?"

"I had hoped that Ash's long forbearance meant he had seen the error of his ways. It appears not. Is he killing again as well?"

"What? No. Absolutely not. He didn't even bite me, Toria did. He saved my life."

"Saved your life?" Keller scoffed and walked over to a stack of books. The small room was quite littered with books. There were stacks on the desk and stacks on the floor. James could make out the Council laptop unplugged at the bottom of one such pile. Out of another, Keller finally pulled the book he wanted.

"The Verses," he said, "were written in the first or second century by a Christian prophet who was visited by a young vampire, a vampire who claimed to have been born of a human mother."

"Aren't we all?" James retorted.

Keller gave him an annoyed glare and reverently caressed the small leather-bound volume. "This particular vampire had not been turned, but was rather gradually turning into one of us. He claimed to have been told by his mother that his father was one of the children of Lilith, and he asked Sirach, the prophet, to tell his future. The result," Keller pa.s.sed him the volume, "is a retelling of the early Jewish legends of Lilith, combined with a foretelling of the role of the children of Lilith in the last days of Earth."

James paged through the text. It looked like a book of the Bible, except for the repeated references to Lilith. "So you never told me-who is Lilith exactly?"

"Lilith was the first wife of Adam. She proved too willful to serve Adam as a proper helpmate and so was banished from the Garden of Eden. She was cursed, relegated to darkness and demons, but since, unlike Eve, she never ate from the tree of knowledge, she remained immortal."

James handed the book back. "What does that have to do with us?" he asked.

"Nothing," a voice answered from the doorway.

James turned to see Toria leaning casually against the door frame.

"It's a fairy tale and a complete waste of time." She motioned for James to join her in the hallway. "I have a job for you if you are interested in doing something productive."

James turned back to Keller. "We'll talk later, okay? I would like to learn more."

Keller smiled at him, noticeably ignoring Toria's presence. "Any time."

James closed the door behind him and looked up at Toria. "I guess this means you're speaking to me again?"

Toria shrugged. "I think being out from under Ash's wing will be good for you, so I wanted to give you a project."

"Something you need?" James asked.

Toria shook her head. "No..." she broke off as the smell of burning flesh once again greeted them both. James winced and saw Toria do the same. For a moment he thought she might storm into Keller's room, but she quickly composed herself and motioned for him to follow her into his room.

"As I was saying," she continued as James shut the door, "the Council recently expelled one of its members, a fairly new arrival to the city who goes by the name of Lucas Benson."

"Expelled? Why?" James queried, a worried look on his face. "Does this have anything to do with the vampire disappearances?"

Toria glanced at him sharply. James shrugged in response. He didn't like having to admit to listening at keyholes, but he wanted to know what he was up against.

"No," she replied dryly, "he just made a big mistake on his first a.s.signment."

James snorted. "Oh, great. No pressure."

"No, not really," Toria replied. "The Council doesn't yet know that I'm having him trailed. I just want to know if there is anything to report." She handed him a small piece of paper. "I have his address from the Council network. Maybe tonight you could go downtown and see what he's up to now that he's no longer working for us."

"I see," James said, taking the paper from her hand. "What should I expect?"

Toria shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think he's likely to try to kill you, but I can't be certain, so just do the best you can without being seen and don't take any chances. It's not that important."

James hesitated, but decided that the time for hesitation was long past. "Okay," he replied.

Toria turned and headed for the door. "Thank you, James. Now you should get some rest, and if you want my advice, stay away from Keller. He's not been totally sane since I turned him, and he's not to be trusted."

She pulled the door shut behind her and left James wondering just who here was to be trusted.

CHAPTER 13.

Delilah sensed that this man in her arms needed absolution. How blindingly ironic that fate had led him to seek it here. She felt Samson draw in a deep breath and slide his hands down to meet hers. He guided them both across the room, only dragging his lips from hers when he lowered himself onto the edge of her bed.

He pulled her forward, and she willingly followed his lead, coming to sit astride him. His strong hands slid slowly back up her arms and then down to capture her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, seeming to test their weight through the sheer fabric of her dress.

She could feel that he was already hard for her, but he didn't seem in a hurry. He hooked his finger into her v-shaped neckline and slowly slid the blue fabric over, exposing her left breast. He teased her nipple for a moment with his thumb as it grazed past, then bent his head and took it in his mouth. She rose slightly to meet him, and he wrapped his hands around her taut bottom.

She sucked in her breath as his mouth closed around her flesh and he began to suckle her with unashamed delight. His mouth was hot, his devotion slavish, and her hands went unbidden into his glorious hair as a bolt of desire rammed through her, forcing her to arch harder against him.

Ariana didn't want to wake. She wanted the dream.

She almost laughed out loud. James would have said that was her whole problem, she thought. She always wanted the dream, always shot for the moon.

She roused herself, put her feet on the hard wood floor of her apartment, and stared out its floor-to-ceiling windows onto the city below. How many people out there were doing exactly what she was doing-getting up, getting ready for another day of trying to grab the dream? Probably all of them.

She padded to the bathroom, plucking her Blackberry organizer off the dresser on the way so she could read email while she brushed her teeth.

Nothing from Roger.

She wasn't sure what that meant. Why had they been discussing her last night? She was the number two person at the fund. It was only natural her name would come up.

But there was nothing natural about the way Ash Samson had looked at her. Or about the way she had reacted to him. Or her bizarre dream. Just thinking about it made her blush.

Really, nothing like a p.o.r.nographic dream to make a client meeting even more awkward, she thought as she rode the elevator up to the 32nd floor of the mid-town high rise that housed her office.

Ursula, their receptionist, occupied her usual place behind the sleek gla.s.s desk that greeted visitors to Tailwind Investments. "Hi, Ariana," she said. "Roger has been unofficially looking for you."

Ariana looked at her watch. It was only ten minutes past 8:00. She glanced back at Ursula with a raised eyebrow.

"I know," Ursula replied, a hint of sympathy showing from behind her thick gla.s.ses. "He's been in for at least an hour."

Ariana gave a wan smile. "Thanks for the warning, Urs."

Roger and Ariana brought different strengths to the management of the fund. Ariana was brilliant and insightful, but deliberate in her work. Roger was given to flashes of genius, interspersed by periods of what Ariana considered excessive hyperactivity and vacillation.

Ariana opened her office door, hung up her coat, and checked her messages. There was nothing urgent, so she decided to bite the bullet and call Roger.

He picked up on the first ring. "Ariana, I'm glad you're in. Do you have time to come up and talk now about the Samson matter? He's in more of a hurry than I thought."

"Sure, Roger. I'll be right up."

She took the stairs and then blamed the exertion for the fact that her heart was beating faster when she got to Roger's door. She was surprised that she felt a little nervous to knock, but knock she did and, hearing some sort of noise, she entered.

The noise was actually Roger's razor, but he motioned for her to come in as he finished his shave. He stood in front of the 14-foot windows of his corner office, and Ariana couldn't see him clearly until she got closer. He looked like h.e.l.l.

"Late night?" she queried, coming further in and taking a seat in one of the two red leather chairs that faced Roger's tremendous desk. She had teased him mercilessly when he first ordered them several years ago, about making their office look like a bordello. Roger was a great guy, but he had no taste.

When the last of yesterday's shadow was gone, Roger wrapped the cord around the razor and threw it into a desk drawer. He sank down into his chair, put his elbows on the desktop and stared at Ariana through bleary eyes. "Remind me to only see Ash Samson at business functions from now on," he said. "No more social get-togethers."

"Ash did this to you?" she asked. Further inspection revealed that Roger was still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing at the restaurant last night. "My G.o.d, Roger, were you out all night with him?" Her voice finished on an unnaturally high note.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Roger remarked dryly. He put his head in his hands and groaned. "I don't even know where the time went. After dinner we went to his club and had a few drinks." He looked up at her. "Not that many, I didn't think. Then we were in some other room and there were dancers, and..."

"Just stop right there," Ariana interrupted, putting her hand out to emphasize the point. "I get the picture." And it's not a pretty one at that-at least not as far as Roger's part of it. Roger might be a multi-millionaire, but he was still basically a middle-aged finance geek. Definitely not the party animal type.

"I wish I did." Roger groaned again. "Get the picture, that is. Then again, maybe it's better I don't remember." Roger lifted his head. "At any rate, I'm not going to dinner with him tonight. You're on your own."

"Roger!" Ariana's voice was too loud, and Roger's grimace told her that loud alarm was not going to be a successful strategy today. She started again. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about before we make any plans."

"I think the plans are already laid," Roger said, sounding oddly resigned, "but I can fill in some of the details for you. You know Ash has become one of our biggest investors recently."

Ariana nodded.

Roger looked at her intently. "Right," he said, "but Ash has several billion dollars in total investable a.s.sets. He's only invested a small portion of that with us to date." Roger leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. "What I do remember from last night is that he is pleased with what we're doing here and wants to explore a larger investment. A sizably larger investment." He rubbed his forehead a little harder.

"So we wine and dine him while he's in town and he leaves us a big check?" Ariana fervently hoped it was that simple.

Roger dropped his hand and began to absently finger the worn spot on the elbow of his plaid shirt. "I'm afraid it won't be that easy," he said. "He's talking about numbers large enough that just managing his new money would require an expansion of our staff here. We would also need someone to manage the process of extracting him from his current investments and getting him into whatever new investments we came up with."

"Wow."

Suddenly Roger wouldn't let Ariana get any questions out.

"He asked me who my best person was," he said, continuing on in a rush, "and of course I said you. He wants you to come to his London offices. I'm not sure for how long, but if he we have to, we can do the whole transition with you there. You can develop and execute the exit strategy with his people, you and I can develop the new strategy, and we'll staff the research and execution out of this office."

Ariana's mouth hung open. How could so much have happened in one night? "You're shipping me out to London to be some guy's personal investment adviser?" she asked. She wasn't about to get demoted because some big shot snapped his fingers; she'd worked far too hard for that. "What about my work here?" Ariana couldn't believe Roger would sell her out so quickly.

"We're talking about another billion dollars, Ariana," Roger said. "There will be plenty of work, no matter where you are. We'll probably start another fund just for this and bring in a few other investors later on."

Outrage turned to shock. "A billion dollars? Why, that will more than double the size of the current fund." Ariana's brow furrowed, and she looked hard at her boss. "Roger, are you sure you've thought this through?" she asked.

"No," he said, his voice m.u.f.fled because he'd put his head back down in his hands. "Ash just sprang this on me, too, which is all the more reason you have to go to London. With you there, it will be easier to stall him if we hit snags or need more time."

Ariana stared out the window for a moment wondering why everything suddenly seemed to be out of her control. "I guess I agree with you," she said finally. "It seems I have to go to London."

Roger looked a little surprised. "It's not for good, Ariana. You should look at it as a promotion. It's certainly more than we've bitten off so far. If this goes well, you'll have plenty of chops to start your own fund if that's what you want."

He was right on all counts, of course, but it didn't erase her sense of unease.

CHAPTER 14.

Once she left Roger's office, the day went by in the usual flurry of activity. Before she knew it, it was half past 6:00, and Ariana had no choice but to prepare for dinner.

She went into her office bathroom and gazed at her reflection with a critical eye. She was not unattractive. She had great long, shimmery hair, full lips and dark eyes, but she suspected her eyes and strong bearing scared men away. She had a real talent for sizing people up in an instant-seeing into what made them tick. Most men didn't like that, especially in a woman who made more money than they did. She smiled wanly. At least she wouldn't have to worry about that with Ash.

That was a dangerous line of thought, she immediately told herself. Ash was a client. It wouldn't do to start thinking of him as a potential romance.

Even as she lectured herself, she remembered the way she had felt last night during the brief moments when they had made eye contact.

There was no forgetting that, but self-control was her specialty. James, though in the end he didn't like the result, was the one who had taught her that she had the power to control her own destiny.

An interlude with Ash, whatever form she allowed it to take, had one goal-a successful business transaction that she could build on to start her own fund. Her goal of working for herself and being a screaming success was within her reach even sooner than she'd imagined.

And that was pretty cool, Ariana thought with a self-satisfied smile. No man was going to get in the way of that, no matter how scrumptious he was.

She winced as she thought of James. Wherever he was, she hoped he knew that he had never been in the way.

Had she simply spent too much time at work? No, there was no single, simple explanation. And don't forget, chimed the little voice that sometimes argued in her defense, James was the one who left you. Ariana sighed, knowing this argument with herself had no end.

Ash's car arrived promptly at 7:00, and she was downstairs waiting for it. It was the usual black sedan. She climbed in as the driver held the door. Somehow she'd expected something slightly more dramatic.

Before she even had time to relax into the drive, the car came to a halt in front of a posh Park Avenue townhouse. The driver came around to get her door, and Ariana stepped onto the sidewalk.

Ash had pretty good taste, she thought, admiring the upward view. She loved these old townhouses, with their unique, elegant architecture. Faded, dark red stucco rose three stories above the sidewalk, adorned with elaborate carved overhangs at the roof and above the windows. A large brick pillar flanked the stairs that led up from the sidewalk to the front door. Or rather, front gate.

The stairs stopped at an archway protected by a locked wrought iron gate. Similar black bars adorned the windows on the lower floor, protecting them from overly inquisitive pa.s.sers-by.

Ariana ascended the stairs, followed by the driver, who brushed past her and opened the locked gate. They both stepped into the entryway and, after locking the gate behind them, the driver turned and gave a brisk rap of the bra.s.s gargoyle knocker that adorned the mahogany front door. It had an empty echo, but Ariana thought the gargoyle was a nice touch.

The driver retreated back down the stairs, and someone opened the door. For a moment, all Ariana could see was a small, dark silhouette as the light from inside spilled out onto the stoop along with a rush of warm, fragrant air.

"Good evening, Miss," the elderly woman said in a clipped British accent. She motioned for her to come inside, and Ariana's eyes adjusted enough that she could tell the woman wore a black dress with a pristine white ap.r.o.n.

"I'll let Mr. Samson know you've arrived, Miss. Please," the woman pointed to a small sitting area, "have a seat."