"Like many Greeks, the gorgon will have an Achilles' heel. Probably his head. So, I imagine the golden sword theory is best if we listen to mythology. I wonder where we can acquire two or three such swords?" Nic spoke up, trying to ignore Forest's continual carnal caress. The enemy they were soon to face was dangerous, deadly and crafty—a tough combination to beat. But this kind of adventure was the kind he liked best, as gargoyles, goblins and ghosts were a little tame. Nic loved to pit his wits and skills against an evenly matched adversary. He had never lost yet; nor would he, since his cousin, his little brother and Sam's lives all possibly would depend on his skill.
"I can supply those swords by tomorrow night if all goes well," Prince Petroff volunteered.
"And I'll do the research to make sure we're on the right track to killing him," Sam offered. She didn't like killing supernatural creatures, but some were just plain monsters. And a serial stoner was one seriously heavy bad guy.
"I'll help you," Nic remarked casually.
Sam shook her head, no. She knew that it wouldn't do at all if he came with her. They would just end up arguing or kissing. Either way, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep her mind off the gorgeous jerk, and she should be studying the ancient texts.
"You, Alex and Ripley need to visit the Goth clubs and talk to the bartenders before the regular crowd gets there. Between the three of you, you should be able to get that done before prime time. Ask around and see what you dig up. Do a little spying. See if you can't help pinpoint where Nero's lair is located."
Nic began to argue. "There are only three clubs!"
Sam frowned. "Three that we know of. There might be more. Besides, you guys might want to check out Greek restaurants in the area."
"Greek restaurants?" Alex asked.
"The Meduse is probably homesick for good old home cooking," she explained.
"That's stupid," Forest said. She didn't like Nic's interest in Sam, and it was obvious.
Nic frowned. "No, Forest, it does make a kind of sense. The Meduse won't feed from his kills; he kills for pleasure. And he eats like humans do. I imagine Greek food would tempt him—a piece of home. Who doesn't like a Greek omelette?"
Natasha spoke up, her fangs flashing as Prince Varinski put his arm around her shoulder. "I don't care how you do it, just get me his head on a pike."
"Don't worry, darling, we'll take care of this for you," Petroff promised. Then, glancing at Boris and Forest he added, "We need to go to sleep soon and sleep till dusk. We'll need all our energy for this creature. It's time we go to the hotel."
The Prince stood. "Everyone needs to use extreme caution. Especially the females of this group. We're up against the unexplainable. So, take care and, must importantly, beware of Greeks bearing gifts."
Saved by the Elevator Bell
The drive to the nearby Transylvania Hotel was passed with conversations highlighting the plan of action for tracking the Meduse and destroying it, but emotions were running high. Pulling up to the building, Sam observed its austere beauty. Located at Transylvania Ave. 6-5000, the exclusive hotel had been built for the sole purpose of catering to vampires and shapeshifters. There were no windows in the rooms from floors one to seven, and every room was fitted with an elaborate coffin. Inside the mini-bars were bottles of blood. And mirrors where everywhere. (In spite of vampire lore, the undead could not only be seen in mirrors, they gloried in their good looks. After dying and coming back as one of the Nosferatu, a human's looks were enhanced. An ugly person could become pretty; a pretty person could become a Helen of Troy.)
From floors eight on up, the Transylvania Hotel had installed large windows with ornate wrought iron balconies, completely caged in but providing the much beloved view of the sky—a necessity for any self-respecting shapeshifter. Heavy steel doors led in and out of each room, which werewolves or other more violent shapeshifter species couldn't break or claw through. Bouncing balls, old shoes and live mice were provided for entertainment.
Inside the elegant hotel, Nic firmly took Sam's arm. Eyeing the others with a look of stern warning to stay put, he turned back to Sam, holding her firmly. "I'll escort you to your room. We're on the same floor."
Glancing at the others' expressions, Sam could tell she wasn't going to get any help from them. Saying a gruff good night, she reluctantly allowed Nic to lead her to the elevator doors.
Stopping at the lift, he glanced down at her, his expression intense. "I've wanted to be alone with you. No interference. We didn't get a chance to talk on the jet since you almost broke your neck sitting by Ripley. And at the Barrington brownstone, there didn't seem to be an appropriate moment."
"So, you've decided to strong arm me?" she asked pettishly. "Subtlety must not be your specialty."
Tapping her foot, Sam wished the elevator would hurry up and arrive, because she needed to get away from Nic before her control slipped. She couldn't let him know how much he affected her.
"Come on, Sam. Give me a break."
"Give you a break?" she asked in outrage. "Nuts! I knew you were no good for a woman when I first laid eyes on you. I really knew you were no good when you seduced me in three days. I'm not easy!"
Nic studied her flashing blue eyes, and crossed his arms on his chest. "Your point?"
"I'm not finished yet, buster!" She had barely stepped up to the plate and already she was swinging. "I really, really knew you were no good for a woman when you let me experience your expertise. Finally, I recognized you for the hardheaded heartbreaker that you are when you added me as just another notch on your bedpost and left without a word! You ditched me, plain and simple. Despicable."
"I was going to call, Sam, but things got in the way," Nic said, hiding the anger that was burgeoning deep within him. Women didn't criticize him; they made love to him.
Nic didn't even know why he cared what Sam thought of him. Yet he did. Each time he saw her, the ache in his groin increased and his possessive nature wanted to take her in front of God, the bellboys and any other creature in the vicinity. She drove him crazy faster than anyone he knew, and made him so mad that he wanted to walk off into the sunset, never to return—but only if she came with him.
"Ha! You guys are all alike. You never call after a one-night stand," Sam argued heatedly. Then, realizing what she had implied, she frowned, adding too quickly for Nic to get a word in edgewise: "Of course, if a man called after a one-nighter then technically it wouldn't be a one-nighter, but a one-night stand with a little extra. Not much better, but still something. Something you didn't do."
"This is all hypothetical bull and beside the point. We were discussing you and me. You weren't a one-night stand Sam—never that."
"No? You didn't write, call or come by. I'd say that really clinches it. You know something, Nic, you made me feel on top of the whole supernatural world when you made love to me. Then you made me feel like the Queen of Dunces by letting me know just how little I meant to you. You made me feel used and sleazy, and no one does that."
"What can I do to make it up to you?"
Tapping her foot impatiently, Sam complained, "This has got to be the slowest elevator since the dawn of time. Think you can manage to get it to open?"