Ildaria stretched happily and yawned as she woke up, her body arching and twisting under the covers. She’d slept well, and the dreams she’d shared with G.G. had left her feeling lovely, as if all was right with the world. She’d had other dreams afterward, but not shared dreams and not one had included sex. Still, they’d been nice dreams, most of them featuring her abuela telling her she loved and was proud of her. Ildaria had no idea what the psychology behind that was. Perhaps in her subconscious she was forgiving herself for never seeing her abuela again after the day she’d fled Señorita Ana’s home. That was something that had always bothered her. She’d tried several times over the two years after that fateful day to approach her, but always there had been at least one Enforcer watching her abuela’s home, and following her everywhere she went.
The last time Ildaria had tried, she’d arrived to see Juan outside, talking to several of the neighbors. She hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying, but she’d spotted a friend of her abuela’s standing, weeping, amongst the gathering and had read her mind. The woman had been visiting when Ildaria’s abuela had suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor. She’d run for help, but by the time she returned with the local healer, there was nothing he could do. Ildaria’s abuela was dead. Juan was now telling them that he would take care of her burial and everything else.
Ildaria had stumbled away, heart both broken and guilt laden. Her abuela had died alone. The logical side of her brain had assured her that it wasn’t her fault, but the emotional side had berated her for failing her abuela, the woman who had championed and raised her. Ildaria had wanted to attend the funeral, but Juan was there with Señorita Ana and her fiancé who had surely been her husband by then. There had also been about a dozen Enforcers in attendance. She’d had to watch the proceedings from a distance, unable to see her abuela one last time to say goodbye. She’d simply watched hollow-eyed as a beautiful and surely expensive wood coffin had been lowered into the ground.
Ildaria had stayed until long after most of the others had left, but while the guests, and even the Enforcers had left, Juan had remained behind alone, watching silently as they filled her grave with dirt. Most of the time he’d stood unmoving, but every once in a while he’d glanced around as if expecting someone. Her, she’d supposed, but sure it was a trap, she hadn’t dared approach. The man had been furious to the point of hatred that night in the alley, and that had been before she’d maimed him. And he’d hunted her for two years at that point, his men seeming everywhere all the time. A man did not expend that kind of energy and manpower without very deep feelings. She was sure he wasn’t doing it because he wished to welcome her to the immortal fold, and was terrified of what retribution he’d demand if he caught her.
Ildaria’s largest fear was that he’d have her executed. Señorita Ana had made it very clear that each immortal could turn only one, and saved it to turn a life mate should they be mortal. While Juan hadn’t intentionally turned her, his blood was what had brought on the turn. Did that mean he couldn’t turn a life mate should he meet one? Unless he killed her?
Or perhaps he’d already turned his one and she was one too many. He had been mated and had children, but his life mate was apparently dead, although Ildaria didn’t know the story behind it. She did know that Señorita Ana had said should an immortal turn a second mortal, the immortal that had turned them would be executed. But she was quite sure as head of the Council, Juan could dictate that she be executed instead. He hadn’t turned her deliberately after all.
Survival had seemed a perfectly good excuse to put off trying to see her abuela until another time while the woman had still lived, but once her abuela was dead Ildaria had berated herself for not trying harder. She should have risked death and walked straight up to her and told her everything, or as much as she could before she was dragged away and set on fire. She should have . . . done something. Or so she’d berated herself for decades afterward. The mental self-flagellation had ended eventually, but the guilt had remained, clinging to her like cobwebs.
Now though, Ildaria felt she was willing to let go of the burden of that guilt. She had been very young, and had done the best she could. Her abuela must know and understand that.
It left her feeling lighter somehow. Forgiven.
A peaceful smile curving her lips, she glanced at the clock. It was a little after two in the afternoon. She’d slept about seven hours. Good enough, she decided and slid from bed to go to the closet to survey her clothes. She’d normally wear jeans and a T-shirt or a pretty summer dress during the afternoon depending on what she and G.G. had planned for the day. But today she grabbed her leather pants and bustier. If there were South American Enforcers out there waiting to try to grab her, she wanted to be prepared for battle.
The thought disrupted some of the serenity she’d woken feeling, and Ildaria sighed as she felt it slip away. She might have forgiven herself for the past, but Juan Villaverde obviously hadn’t . . . And he’d found her. Which meant she had to talk to G.G. and decide what to do about it. Moving on and hiding would be her normal action, but she had a life mate to consider now, Ildaria thought as she closed the closet door and took her chosen clothes into the bathroom with her.
She’d brushed her teeth, showered, and was dressing when she recalled H.D. G.G. had never come to collect the pup. An hour after he normally collected the dog, she’d assumed he was still sleeping and had finally taken H.D. into the bedroom. She’d crawled into bed, settling him next to her, and fallen asleep. But the little fur ball hadn’t been there when she’d woken up, she realized.
Concerned, she stepped out of the bathroom and took a quick look around the room. She didn’t see him right away and would have done a more thorough search, but the fact that the door was closed when she knew she’d left it open last night made her head that way instead. She suspected G.G. had come to get him, but wasn’t positive, so opened the door cautiously and peered out before leaving the room.
The hall was empty, but it was also full of delicious smells. Sniffing the air, she stepped out of the room and started up the hall at a more relaxed pace. She was pretty sure neither dog-nappers nor Enforcers from the south who were out to kidnap her would cook bacon before going about their business.
A smile claimed her lips when she stepped out into the living room and spotted G.G.’s wide back at her stove. Her smile grew when H.D. came hurrying around the island and pranced toward her, tail high and tongue hanging out.
G.G. knew the minute his dog jumped up and scampered from the kitchen that Ildaria must be up. Turning from the bacon he was frying, he glanced into the living room and nearly swallowed his tongue. Bloody hell, the woman looked like a walking wet dream.
Ildaria was encased in leather from head to toe . . . well, mostly just from her breasts to her toes, he acknowledged. While she had high-heeled, knee-high leather boots, and tight, body-hugging leather pants on that completely covered her from the waist down, the upper half of her body was trussed up in some kind of bustier/corset-looking thing that was just as tight as the pants, and followed the upper curve of her breasts, ending in a low V between them. It had inch wide straps that ran over the shoulders to help keep it up, but still left a hell of a lot of her beautiful tawny flesh on display. It was sexy as hell. If these were the leathers she’d mentioned wearing when she went vigilante, the bag guys she’d gone after probably hadn’t had a chance. They’d have been too distracted by her figure to fight back.
Much to his relief, Ildaria squatted then and leaned forward, her damp hair dropping around her like a curtain as she petted H.D. and G.G. was able to drag his attention away from her. It dropped automatically to his dog, and he immediately rolled his eyes with disgust. The fur ball was on his back, rolling back and forth and twisting his head ecstatically as she petted his belly.
“Come on, H.D., you’re embarrassing us both,” G.G. said with exasperation. “You could at least pretend to have a little dignity.”
Predictably, the dog ignored him. But Ildaria chuckled. He just wasn’t sure if it was at his words or the dog’s antics, though, since she followed it up with, “Hey baby. How’s my furry little sleep buddy?”
“Gloating all over the place that he got to sleep with you first,” G.G. said with amusement. When his teasing drew her gaze to him, he smiled and said, “Morning, Angel, you look ready to take on the world.”
Ildaria glanced down at her outfit, grimaced, and then scooped up H.D. “I thought I’d better be ready for anything. We had a little trouble last night.”
“I heard,” he said grimly as she carried H.D. to the island and settled on one of the chairs. “Mirabeau and Tiny are out in the hall keeping an eye out for trouble.”
Ildaria nodded. “Tybo and Valerian were out in the hall when I went to sleep last night, but mentioned they’d probably be replaced before I woke up. I assume this Mirabeau and Tiny are the Enforcers sent to replace them?”
“It seems so,” he answered, and then told her what he knew of the pair from gossip and comments made in the Night Club. “Mirabeau used to be a full-time Enforcer and Tiny was a private detective for the Morrisey agency. Now they split their time between the two jobs. Today they’re enforcing and guarding you.”
“An immortal detective,” Ildaria said with a faint smile. “He would have been exceptionally good at it if his clients were all mortal.”
“He was mortal when he worked as a detective only. Mirabeau turned him. They’re life mates.”
“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word.
Noting the concern drawing her eyebrows together, and knowing what was causing it, he quickly assured her, “But they’re past the passed-out-from-sex-all-the-time stage, so should be good.”
When Ildaria relaxed at this news, G.G. announced, “I’m making breakfast,” and turned back to the stove.
“What can I do to help?” Ildaria asked at once, and he glanced around to see her sliding off the chair and bending to set H.D. on the ground.
“Nothing,” he said as H.D. returned to his side and curled up on the floor next to him. The little beggar would stay close until he stopped cooking in the hopes that pieces of bacon would magically fall to the floor for him to gobble up.
“I could make toast,” Ildaria suggested.
“It’s already made and staying warm in the oven, next to a bowl of fried potatoes,” he told her. “The bacon is the last of it, except for eggs, and those can’t be made until the bacon is done.” And then, to prevent her arguing further, he added, “The kettle should still be hot. Make yourself a tea and keep me company.” He’d set the tea to boil three times since returning about an hour ago.
Knowing Ildaria wouldn’t be up for a while, he’d gone to his own apartment after taking H.D. out to relieve himself. He’d had coffee and a couple Pop-Tarts there, made phone calls and then puttered around until a little after one when he’d judged it was late enough that she would wake up within the next hour or so. Then G.G. had gathered bacon, eggs, potatoes, and his large grill pan and led H.D. back here to start breakfast.
“Did you want tea too?” Ildaria asked.
“No. I’m rocking the coffee this morning,” he responded. “Thank you, though.”
She murmured something he didn’t really catch over the clink of a spoon in a cup, and then said, “So, I’m guessing this Mirabeau and Tiny told you about what happened last night?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. G.G. had made them describe exactly what they’d been told about what had happened when he’d returned upstairs with H.D. He should have made them do that before he went downstairs with H.D. It would have made spotting the blood on the grass out back much less alarming had he known it was all from her attackers and not Ildaria’s. Seeing the dried blood staining the blades of grass had given him a shock. He’d known she must be okay. She’d been well enough to have shared dreams with him, but she could have been injured and healed. Immortals healed quickly.
Learning she was uninjured and had kicked ass all on her own, had filled him with relief, pride, and concern. He was relieved she wasn’t hurt, proud she’d kicked ass like that, but concerned for her well-being now. He was also pissed. She shouldn’t have to fight for her life like this, but he suspected she’d had to do that frequently in her two hundred plus years. He doubted she’d been lucky enough that this was the first time her pursuers had caught up with her in two centuries.
“Did they tell you what’s been done with Juan’s Enforcers?” Ildaria asked, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Last they’d heard, Lucian had called in Rachel to remove your shoes—She’s a doctor who’s married to Etienne Argeneau, one of Lucian’s nephews,” G.G. interrupted himself to explain. “But apparently she had some trouble getting your shoe out of the one guy’s face. I guess it was hooked on the bone and she had to operate,” he explained and heard her grunt behind him in acknowledgment. “The other guy wouldn’t even let her near him until they knocked him out. He didn’t want the shoe removed. He didn’t want the healing to start.”
“Si, healing from that would be a bitch,” Ildaria said with satisfaction.
G.G. nodded. The shoe had apparently gone through his testicle. The kick that had inserted the shoe would have been swift and excruciating, but that would be nothing next to the healing. That would be much slower, the pain extended over hours as the nanos repaired the damage. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was no less than the man deserved for trying to take his woman, G.G. thought grimly.
Speaking of which, he thought, and said, “After I heard the news about the attack, I thought perhaps we should leave Canada to avoid any further attacks.”
G.G. was aware of the sudden stillness behind him, and added, “But as my father said, they may know that we’re life mates. If they don’t, it wouldn’t be hard to find out, and then they’d just follow us to England.”
“England?” she echoed, but he couldn’t tell how she was feeling. She didn’t sound surprised, more curious.
“Yes. At first, I was thinking we could go there, but my father thinks we should handle it here if we can. That way we would have the support of the North American as well as the UK Council because I’m a Brit in Canada. He doesn’t think Lucian would be allowed to interfere in England since you’re from the Dominican Republic which is guided by the South American Council,” he explained.
“Si, if Juan complained and a summit of Council leaders was called, they might decide Lucian has no business in this if I am not still living in Canada,” Ildaria murmured, sounding a little distracted. He understood why when she said, “Your father pointed this out? He knows about me?”
G.G. nodded. “I called my parents after I finished talking to Mirabeau and Tiny. I thought I should tell them about us, and let them know that we might be flying over soon. It seemed better than just showing up and giving my mother fits.” He paused briefly, but then quickly added, “I say might be flying over, because I would have checked with you before booking the flights or anything. I wasn’t going all caveman on you.”
He heard her sigh behind him and then she whispered, “I wish I could hug you right now.”
“I do too,” he admitted, his voice husky, but then shook his head. “Unfortunately, we have talking to do right now and if you hugged me . . .”
“That talking wouldn’t get done,” she said, sounding resigned.
He heard her cross the room and the scrape of a chair being pulled out. G.G. wasn’t surprised to see her settling at the island again when he glanced around.
“So, we will talk,” she said resolutely, clearing her throat. “You told your parents about us?”
There was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice and G.G. turned back to the stove to hide the smile that started to curve his lips. It was the anxiety of the partner threatened with the dreaded in-laws, something he wouldn’t have to worry about since Ildaria’s abuela was long dead and she had no other family. That thought drove his smile away, and he assured her, “They were very pleased.”
“Si. Of course,” she muttered, sounding distracted. “They have been hoping for this for a long time.”
“Yes. So there’s nothing to worry about. You could be a troll and they’d still love you, and you’re no troll. They will adore you. Hell, my mother will probably drop to her knees and kiss your feet the minute she gets in the door.”
“What? Wait!” she said with alarm. “In what door? You said we were not going to England.”
“We aren’t,” he agreed. “But my parents are flying here. Robert wants to help resolve this and Mother—”
G.G. stopped and turned sharply at a choking sound from Ildaria. His eyes widened incredulously when he saw her expression. His beautiful brave woman who had taken on two Enforcers and kicked their asses last night, looked terrified at the idea of meeting his parents. She was pale, her eyes golden-brown saucers, her mouth shaped into a rictus of horror, and she was clutching her throat as if she were indeed choking. Then she started to babble away in Spanish, her hands suddenly leaving her throat to fly about in a way he’d never seen from her before as she began what sounded like either a rant, or possibly a plea. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t understand a single word she was saying. But Spanish sure was a pretty language, he thought. And her hands looked like little birds as she waved them around. Beautiful.
Stopping abruptly, she frowned and said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’ve just never seen you get excited about anything before,” he said with a slow smile, and then added, “Well, outside of sex.”
Ildaria flushed bright pink and moaned, “They will hate me.”
“No, they won’t,” he assured her. “They’ll love you to bits. My mother has been waiting for you for nearly twenty years.”
“She has been waiting for an immortal who would make you want to turn. I am not that. I failed her,” Ildaria wailed, dropping her head onto the island surface.
G.G. shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “You haven’t failed anything. My not turning has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it does,” she said, sitting up with irritation. She scowled at him briefly and then closed her eyes and groaned. “She will come here and she will—” Ildaria shook her head and then launched into another spate of Spanish.
It made G.G. wish he understood the language. Or, maybe he was better off not knowing. Her suggestion that she wasn’t enough to make him want to turn had been guilt-inducing. He’d never imagined she would take it that way, and it was ridiculous. Because if anyone could have convinced him to turn, he was one hundred percent positive it would have been Ildaria. He’d even considered it, if only briefly before his more sensible side had reminded him he was perfectly happy being mortal and living a mortal life.
“When are they coming?”
The sudden English caught his attention, and G.G. blinked and shifted his thoughts to answer her. “Well—”
“This would not be considered an emergency by the Council there, so surely they could not arrange a flight before tomorrow, could they?” she asked hopefully.
“Er . . . well, Robert is on the Council,” he admitted reluctantly. “And he called me after talking to Scotty—he’s the head of the UK Council,” G.G. explained, and then continued. “Scotty has agreed to accompany him and my mother here to handle the situation with Villaverde.”
Much to his surprise that seemed to ease her concerns somewhat. “Oh, good, good. As the head of the Council I am sure this Scotty cannot just drop everything and fly out right away. It could be days before they leave. Si?”
“Er . . .” G.G. shifted on his feet uncomfortably, but finally said, “It won’t be days, Ildaria. Scotty is a good friend of my parents and he knows how worried they have been about my finding a life mate, or being a life mate to someone or whatever,” he muttered, and shook his head. “He won’t make them wait days. In fact, they’re probably—”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
“I’ll get it,” Ildaria said, suddenly solemn and grim.
Nodding, G.G. turned back to his bacon. It was done, so he began lifting it out piece by piece onto the paper towel covered plate he’d prepared ahead of time. He was getting the eggs out of the refrigerator when Ildaria led Lucian into the kitchen. G.G. eyed the man briefly and then shifted his gaze to H.D., expecting the usual barking and hullabaloo, but the dog was sitting still and tense where he’d been lying just a moment ago. He was also eyeing Lucian Argeneau with wariness, not looking the least interested in drawing the man’s attention his way by barking.
That was a new reaction from the dog, G.G. thought, and turned back to the refrigerator to grab the second pack of bacon he’d brought over with him. He’d brought it along thinking to offer some to Mirabeau and Tiny, but they’d once again said they were good when he’d stopped to mention it to them on the way across the hall, so he’d only cooked the one package. Lucian, however, never turned down food. The man was always hungry. G.G. was sure that if he didn’t fry the second package, he and Ildaria would be lucky to get a piece of bacon each. Lucian Argeneau would eat every last slice of what he’d just finished cooking.
“Lucian,” he said in greeting as he carried the eggs and bacon over to set them on the counter next to the stove.
“Joshua,” Lucian greeted him in response. The man wasn’t one for nicknames unless it was one he had given the person. G.G. was always Joshua to him.
He noted Ildaria’s startled expression at the use of his name and then Lucian said, “Call him Joshua then, Angelina. At least, in those moments.”
When G.G. glanced between the pair in question at the odd comment Ildaria scowled and explained, “He was very rudely reading my mind again, and”—her scowl eased—“I was thinking that I like your name and am uncomfortable calling you G.G. when we are . . . being intimate,” she said, flushing, and then rushed on. “It is a nickname and feels disrespectful, or impersonal in such special moments.”
“And I suggested she use your real name,” Lucian finished when she fell silent.
Much to G.G.’s amusement, Ildaria rolled her eyes now. She obviously wasn’t the least cowed by the man’s power and position. At least, if she was, she had no intention of showing it. He suspected she’d had to put a brave face on a lot over the centuries.
Ignoring Lucian, G.G. met her gaze and said, “I understand. Why do you think I’ve taken to calling you Angel in our shared dreams and out?”
“Because it is her name,” Lucian said dryly.
Now it was G.G.’s turn to roll his eyes. But either Lucian didn’t notice, or he chose to ignore it in favor of telling Ildaria, “You should use the name you were given. It is who you are. Who your family wanted you to be.”
G.G. noted the way Ildaria’s jaw tightened at Lucian’s lecture and decided a change of subject was needed. Turning to the package of bacon he’d just retrieved from the fridge, he asked, “Are you hungry, Lucian?”
“I could eat,” Lucian said mildly, settling himself on a chair at the island.
“I thought you wanted to talk about the South American Enforcers,” Ildaria said laconically.
“I can do that while we wait for Joshua to finish the bacon and make the eggs,” Lucian said easily.
G.G. opened the bacon package and started laying out strips on the long griddle he’d placed over two of the burners on the stove. Once the last piece was on, he put the first batch of bacon in the oven to stay warm with the potatoes and toast.
“Coffee or tea?” Ildaria asked, her voice a bit snappy.
“Tea,” Lucian said, and when Ildaria simply stared at him, he added, “Please,” as an afterthought.
G.G. suspected Lucian was not a man used to saying please or thank you. Actually, he was pretty sure he wasn’t. The man didn’t even bother with hello and goodbye during phone conversations. G.G. didn’t think Lucian was intentionally rude, he was just a very abrupt man, used to giving orders. Orders did not usually include please or thank you unless you were in a restaurant.
“So,” Lucian said finally when Ildaria set a cup of tea in front of him and stepped back to eye him expectantly. “The South Americans were not trying to kidnap you.”
“What?” Ildaria asked with disbelief. Crossing her arms with a harrumph, she shook her head. “They are lying.”
“They cannot lie to me,” Lucian said simply. “I read their minds. They approached you to invite you back to South America on the behalf of the head of their Council, Juan Villaverde.”
Ildaria’s mouth tightened at that name, and she growled, “I don’t care if you’ve read their minds. They may have been told to simply ask me back, but when I refused, they would have been ordered to take me.”
Lucian shook his head. “As I said, I read their minds. They were ordered just to invite you personally. When Juan called a week ago and asked me to send you back to South America, I felt sure it had to do with your time on the pirate ship, so I refused. But, apparently Villaverde has been looking for you for quite a while, and it has nothing to do with the mortals you attacked on Vasco’s boat.”
“No, it has to do with Juan attacking me a little over two hundred years ago,” Ildaria snapped.
Lucian’s eyebrows rose and then lowered again and his eyes concentrated on her.
Reading her mind, G.G. thought, and was surprised when Ildaria merely lifted her chin, and apparently let him. Except that he supposed it was a much faster and less stressful way for the man to get the full story. At least, this way she didn’t have to relive it again in the telling, he thought as he turned back to the bacon and left them to it. A startled sound from Lucian a few moments later had him glancing over his shoulder in time to see the pained look on the man’s face before it cleared.
Guessing he’d got to the biting part, and knowing that there was still more for him to read, G.G. turned back to his cooking.
“I see,” Lucian said quietly several moments later. “I was not aware of any of this.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t read it from my mind when the men first brought me here from Montana,” Ildaria commented.
G.G. looked around to see Lucian shrug. “I was looking only for information on the mortals you attacked on the ship, and the reason for it. I was not interested in a recounting of your entire two centuries of life.”
Ildaria nodded and walked around the island to drop into the chair farthest from Lucian’s before asking, “And now that you know?”
Lucian was silent for several minutes and then sighed and agreed with what she’d said earlier. “I suspect they would have been ordered to take you if you had refused. Villaverde has been hunting you too long to just accept a no thank you.”
Ildaria relaxed a little at that, and turned her attention to her own tea.
“How do you want your eggs, Lucian?” G.G. asked when silence followed. “Scrambled, over easy, or sunny side up?”
“Sunny side up,” Lucian answered, and then recalled the, “Please,” on his own, if a second later.
G.G. grabbed the eggs. He already knew Ildaria preferred hers over easy. This wasn’t the first time he’d made her breakfast this week, although she’d made it for him more.
A heavy sigh caught his ear, and then Lucian said, “I do not understand this. The man I saw in your memories is not the Juan Villaverde I know.”
G.G. glanced around to see Ildaria staring at Lucian with incomprehension. “What do you mean? You know him?”
“Of course. He is the head of the South American Council,” Lucian said as if that should make it obvious that he would of course know him, and then he added, “Aside from that, I have known him for at least a thousand years. We used to be great friends, and the man I knew was always honorable.”
“Does an honorable man raise the price of blood to force his people to give up land he wants?” Ildaria asked sharply.
Lucian scowled at the question. “Vasco mentioned that to me, and I could hardly credit it.”
“Well, credit it. It is true,” Ildaria assured him. “I lived and worked at the shore for decades and saw it happen.”
“You had property on the shore?” G.G. asked with interest and wondered if she still owned it. A beach house in Punta Cana might be nice, he thought and then recalled that Ildaria wouldn’t be safe there.
“No.” Ildaria shook her head. “I never had enough money to buy property of my own. But I knew an immortal who had an old hut on the edge of their property that they let me use when I was between jobs,” she said and then explained, “For a long time I took positions with mortal plantation owners, either as a house servant or laborer. Most of those jobs came with a bed in the barracks with the other single women working there. But I could only work so long in one place before one of the Enforcers would come sniffing around and I would have to leave. Even if that did not happen, my not aging made me leave eventually. Then I would return to the hut by the sea, and live off of what money I’d managed to save until I found another position where I thought I would be safe for a while. More recently though, I switched to jobs on the fishing boats.”
“Hmmm.” Lucian looked dissatisfied. “Vasco said Juan’s raising of the price of blood for immortals only started about ten years ago?”
Ildaria shrugged. “That is when Vasco noticed and started the feeding tours. I am not sure how long it has gone on. I could not use the blood banks. There were always a couple of Juan’s Enforcers at the blood banks keeping an eye out for me.”
Lucian’s expression was grim. “Then how did you feed? Biting mortals is against the law in the areas governed by South American Council as well.”
“It has only been banned there for the last thirty years,” Ildaria said, appearing amused. “And that is when I switched from plantation work to jobs on the fishing boats.”
“You were feeding on the crew once the boats reached international waters,” Lucian said, sounding impressed, and then he asked, “Is that where Vasco got the idea for his tours?”
“Maybe,” Ildaria muttered. When Lucian’s gaze grew concentrated as he obviously tried to read the truth from her, she heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Oh, get out of my head, I will tell you. Si, he got the idea from me,” she conceded, and explained, “The immortal that was allowing me to use their hut was on the verge of losing his property. He had taken a mortgage out on it for renovations just before Juan started jacking up the price of blood. He could no longer afford the bank payments and the cost of blood too. He had gone to a canteen, considering risking biting a mortal rather than buy blood, so that he could pay his mortgage and not lose his property. I suspected as much and followed to stop him. I was trying to convince him to take the occasional job on one of the fishing boats with me to get the blood he needed without putting himself at such risk. I was so concerned, I did not check to be sure there were no immortals there, but Vasco and Cristo were and heard me pointing out that the Council could not execute him if he fed in international waters.”
She shrugged. “They approached me as we left. Vasco liked what I had said and had an old pirate ship. He wanted to fix it up and start tours taking tourists out into international seas where the poorer immortals and those under threat of losing their homes could feed. But he didn’t know many of the poorer immortals. And he didn’t think they would trust him if he approached the ones he did know of. He was Juan’s son, after all,” she pointed out. “So he asked me to take Cristo around to convince those who needed it most to join his ‘crew.’”
G.G. smiled faintly to himself. He hadn’t known this, but leave it to Ildaria to be the clever one behind such an endeavor. It wasn’t just her fighting skill that had helped her stay alive and out of Villaverde’s clutches all these years. Her wits too had kept her safe and alive. It was probably the main reason for it. Thank God she’d been born with a sharp mind, he thought as he began to transfer eggs from the pan to the plates.
“Enough talk,” he said as he carried the first two plates to the island and set them in front of Lucian and Ildaria. “Time to eat.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but grabbed a dish towel, opened the oven and grabbed the bowl of fried potatoes and the plate that held the toast. Carrying them to the island, he set them on the cutting board he’d set out earlier to hold the hot plates.
Realizing that Ildaria was no longer in her seat, he glanced around to see that she’d gone to retrieve silverware for all of them. Grateful for the help now that the cooking was over, he grabbed the plate of bacon from the oven next and quickly transferred the newly cooked bacon onto the pile already there, then grabbed the plate holding his own eggs and carried both to the island.
“Eat up,” he said as he settled in the chair between Lucian and Ildaria. Paws on his leg drew his attention down to H.D. then, and he scowled firmly. “We are eating. In your basket.”
H.D. hesitated, but then dropped back to all fours and moved morosely out into the living room to find his basket. Grunting with satisfaction, G.G. turned to his food. As he expected, the conversation died then as the three of them concentrated on eating.