"You do know, Alex, that you're not some young pup anymore. Your actions have consequences. You need to grow up. What you did wasn't funny. It was unethical and cruel. You could have gotten Sam hurt or killed by sabotaging her efforts in pursuing and entrapping paranormal pests. You know how dangerous and deadly our job can be; all we deal with are creatures with long sharp claws and even sharper teeth! It must be even more dangerous for a short female, even if she does think she walks ten feet tall," Nic growled. He began issuing curses in every language he knew. Sam could have been killed!
"Where are your protective instincts? The female of any species is the weaker sex. You were raised better than that!" he continued furiously, his eyes smoldering. Of course, he had to admit Sam wasn't exactly weak.
"Look, Nic, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were going to go panting around after that Hammett woman." At Nic's black look, Alex added resentfully, "I mean, she's pretty, so I can see why you're in heat—"
"I'm not in heat!" Nic stated emphatically, his gray eyes in flames.
Alex was tired of being yelled at, and his own anger was starting to rise. "The hell you say! I can smell your lust from a mile away. And she's just as bad as you are. You know, we don't live in a glass menagerie here, Nic. You guys are like two cats on a hot tin roof—jumpy and snarling because you aren't in bed together. She wants you bad, brother."
The last comment made Nic's rage recede a little. He knew very well that Sam desired him, even if she would deny it until her face turned blue. Even his youngest, common-sense-lacking, practical-joke-playing brother could tell.
Who would have thought after that mortifying troll incident that Nic would be the one with bridges to mend. But then, Sam was his own personal streetcar of desire.
Grabbing Alex by the scruff of his neck, he explained roughly, "You and I have an apology to make."
Oh, boy! Alex realized. It was worse than he'd thought. The love bug had bitten Nic, and the world was ending. It had to be, because his eldest brother never apologized.
Ripley's Believe It or Not
Before Nic and Alex could reach the door to his cousin's spacious home, Prince Varinski and Gregor halted their approach. An unknown werewolf was with them who, though in human form, was still recognizable as a shapeshifter from his slightly wolfish odor and his wolflike brown eyes. He had thick eyebrows with only a scant half inch between, giving him a predatory look.
Nic could tell from the expression on his cousin's face that something was wrong. Petroff's usually amused features were taut and drawn.
"What's happened?" Nic asked.
Prince Varinski gravely shook his head. "You remember my old lover, Natasha Barrington?"
Nic nodded. "You and she were quite an item during the Russian Revolution—and for many years afterward."
Waving his elegant hand, Prince Varinski said, "She's a beautiful vampire with a heart of steel, quite irresistible."
"Has something happened to her?" Alex asked.
"No. To her sister, Jessie Barrington," Prince Varinski explained. Turning to the werewolf he added, "This is William Ripley. He brought the bad news. Jessie has been killed in a most unusual manner, and Natasha is requesting our help in finding the creature responsible." The Prince's black-gray eyes were flashing. No one attacked and killed the undead without stirring up a whole nest of snarling, fangy vampires. Retribution would be brutal, quick and deadly.
"When did this happen?" Nic asked, already knowing he would help track and destroy the murderer.
William spoke up. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a faint hint of southern Tennessee. "Last night. We found the body early this morning. I'm a good friend of both Natasha and Jessie, have been with their nest for years. It's hard to believe Jessie is gone."
"I assume she wasn't staked?" Alex asked curiously.
"No. Nothing human did this," Ripley replied. His voice was harsh. "We found her naked and turned to stone. There was no magic dust, and no hint of any kind of spells on the body or in the air."
Alex gasped. Gregor looked thoughtful, pondering the facts of the case, while Nic also remained silent, his mind racing. He tried to make sense of this amazing story. Ripley said no magic was cast, and Nic would take him at his word, since a smart werewolf could sniff out bad magic at least ten feet away—a lucky attribute, since most truly harmful spells had to be personally administered. That would place an attacking witch or warlock in close proximity, certainly closer than ten feet, and within striking distance; he would leave a trace.
Concentrating hard, Nic tried to imagine what could kill a vampire in this way. After all, he reasoned, killing a vampire was very much a risky endeavor, since all undead had already died once and did not go gently into that good morning. Vampires were a tough and tenacious lot, skilled hunters, diplomats and deadly warriors. Whatever had turned this vampire into solid stone had to be another supernatural creature. But the only creature Nic could even think had such power—besides a queen witch or a king warlock—was a monster extinct for over eight centuries.
"You're certain Jessie didn't have a spell cast on her?" Gregor asked, his brows furrowed.
"Positive," Ripley snapped, irritated that his word was being questioned. "No spells. Just little Jessie Barrington, stone cold and stone dead."
"What do you think, Nic?" Prince Petroff questioned soberly.
"What I think, I don't believe. It's not possible. The only creature that could turn someone to stone has been extinct for a long time—before you were even born into the vampire world."
"Nothing's impossible," the Prince remarked. Twice tonight Nic had surprised him: First, with his obvious interest in Samantha Hammett, and now with his obvious frustration at not knowing who or what was Jessie's killer. "We'll leave in two hours, and take my jet to New York. I'll go and begin clearing out my guests."
Nic nodded. Two hours would give him enough time to see Sam and apologize.
Interrupting his cousin's thoughts, Petroff cut slyly in, "By the way, do you think you could use that Hammett woman's help in hunting and tracking this monster?"
Alex and Gregor looked affronted, but Nic looked intrigued, which made the Prince smile. He hid it. Nic was growing old; the years were passing him by, flashing onward in the blink of an eye. But his cousin had a succession to fulfill, and a duty to produce other sons. No, Prince Petroff wasn't the only other member in the royal family line.
"I believe I could use her help," Nic agreed. "Come on, Alex, we have a lady to see." Suddenly his body was alight with an inner fire, and his crafty mind was already working on how best to get Sam to comply.
Opening his mouth to protest, Alex stopped as he took in his brother's firm determination. Giving a sad shrug, he resolutely followed Nic into the house.
Outside, Gregor stared speculatively after Nic. He couldn't help but wonder why his eldest brother was obsessed with Samantha Hammett. After all, she was a cheat, unethical and untrustworthy. Of course, at the party sparks and words had flown. If Nic was truly interested, then Gregor could only wait and see.
As his cousins disappeared inside, Prince Varinski threw back his head and laughed. If Nic didn't end up with Samantha Hammett, then he'd be a dead man. It was too good to be true.
Noticing the Prince's wry amusement, William Ripley asked, "What's so funny?"
With a cynical smile, Petroff answered simply, "Ripley, you just wouldn't believe it."
Everybody Goes to Rick's—Including Vampires, Werewolves and Whatevers
Another Saturday night at her uncle's Casablanca club, Sam mused, noting that there was a steady flow of traffic through the old worn doors of the place. The usual traffic, the usual suspects.