Chasing Shadows(12)

That got me wondering, as I had almost from the moment we met, whether or not Mark would be able to accept the truth. Would he laugh it off as a joke? Would he think I was crazy? And not only the truth about me, I amended silently, but the truth about himself—would he accept that? How could I get him to believe he was an immortal human without proof?

As if I had called him with my thoughts, there was a knock at the door. I downed the last swallow of blood and rinsed the cup quickly, then walked over to the door to let him in. He smiled when I opened the door, and I could not help but smile in return.

“Morning, Boss,” he said lightly.

I chuckled. “Good morning, Mark,” I said, standing aside so he could enter. Angel the dog filed in silently behind him, though she looked up and gave me the barest hint of a nod.

“Good morning to you too, Angel,” I said, reaching down to scratch the Siberian between the ears as Moe and Cissy bounded over, barking at her and demanding her attention. The shifter trotted off into the living room to play with the two smaller dogs.

“I am so glad they get along,” Mark mused, watching the three dogs from the arched doorway to the living room.

“Me too,” I agreed, then bent and retrieved the griddle from its place in a lower cabinet. “Pancakes okay for breakfast?”

He turned back to me. “Sure thing. Do I need to help?”

His tone was teasing so I laughed. “Not this time, but if you’d like to, you can get the plates and silverware and put them on the table. Do you remember where they are?”

Mark nodded and moved to gather the items as I reached for a mixing bowl and then got the box of pancake mix out of the pantry. Once again we exchanged light banter as we worked, and I couldn’t help feeling a little euphoric—this was exactly the kind of scene I had often dreamed of, although in the last two hundred years, such a scene often ended with us abandoning the food for other more delightful pursuits. I found myself almost laughing out loud as I tried to push the image of Mark backing me against the dining table, our mouths fused together in the heat of passion, out of my mind.

I didn’t realize he’d been watching me. “Did I do something funny?” he asked.

I felt heat rise in my cheeks as I switched off the stove and we carried our plates over to the table. “No. It’s nothing,” I said dismissively, then turned back to the refrigerator for the orange juice.

I enjoyed having breakfast with Mark, and couldn’t help longing for the time—hopefully soon—when we’d be doing this every day. I filled him in again on how the day would go, and said that after the morning stall cleaning, he was welcome to go into town to buy his own groceries. I planned to use the time to start an outline on my next book.

“Darn, you mean I’m gonna have to start cooking for myself?” he joked.

I laughed along with him, and before I knew it the meal was over. I noticed that he hadn’t eaten one of his pancakes, and though I suspected I knew why I asked him about it.

“Oh, it’s Angel,” Mark replied. “Pickiest dog I ever met. She absolutely refuses to eat processed dog food—or any kind of dog food, for that matter. I have to feed her what I eat or she won’t eat at all.”

Mark called out to Angel and she came into the kitchen with Moe and Cissy on her heels. He set his plate on the floor for her and I quickly scooped up the Chihuahuas so that there wouldn’t be a fight. I don’t think I needed to bother, though, as the shifter had the syrupy pancake gone in seconds. She looked up as if asking for more, a whine escaping her throat.

Her brother scratched her between the ears after he bent to pick up the plate. “Sorry girl, that was the only one left. Ms. Caldwell’s a darn good cook. Next time I’ll save you some more.”

I put my own dogs down as he put the plate in the sink. “How about next time I just make enough for three?”

Mark looked at me, surprised. “That’s real nice of you, but you don’t have to do that. I just need to do that grocery shopping today so I can take care of my dog.”

I nodded acquiescence and we made quick work of washing the dishes together, then we set out to get the farming work started. The morning went fast; though I was working at a human pace, the work was done twice as fast because there were twice as many people to get it done, even if I did have to stop now and then to explain things to Mark. All too soon he was backing his truck down the driveway to go shopping.

I looked down at Angel. “Want to come inside and relax for a while?” I asked her, and she yelped heartily.

Inside the house, I fetched the robe she had worn the night before for her to put on. She waited until I had returned to change form, and when she was Juliette again she thanked me as she wrapped the robe around herself and tied the belt.

“I don’t suppose I could get something to eat as well?” she queried.

I looked at her with my eyebrows raised, then shook my head as I gathered the same sandwich makings I had used the night before and put them on the table so she could serve herself. I got her a glass and the tea as well, and for myself I opened up the bottle of cow’s blood that was in the back of the refrigerator, heating myself a mug of it and noting that I was going to have to get another batch of blood from the deep freezer today.

“Thanks,” Juliette said again. “Sorry to ask and all; I’d have raided Mark’s fridge if there was anything in it.”

A thought occurred to me then, as I sat at the table with my steaming mug of cow’s blood. “If Mark doesn’t know you’re Angel, what does he think Juliette is doing all day? Where does your father think you are?”

She smiled around the mouthful she had just taken, chewing and swallowing before she replied. “I’ve been in England for the past year.”

My eyebrows winged up again. “Really?” I queried. “Doing what?”

“I graduated from Kent State with a degree in marketing, so that gave me a good base for my cover,” Juliette told me, “which is that I’m currently an assistant buyer for Harrod’s.”

I smiled. “Imagine the money you’d be making if that were true. I’ve shopped at Harrod’s before—wonderful clothes, expensive prices.”

“Are you one of those vampires that hoards all kinds of money over the years?” she asked.

“I have a nest egg, you could say,” I admitted. “Mostly I live off the proceeds from the farm, as well as my other economic venture.”

Juliette frowned. “What ‘other economic venture’ would that be?”

I shrugged nonchalantly as I took a drink of blood—I wasn’t going to be shy about drinking it around her since she knew all about me. “I’ve dabbled in writing here and there.”

“Is that how you know Vivian Drake?”

“Who said I knew her?” I countered.

“I was just wondering,” Juliette replied. “I mean, from the way you talked about her last night, I got the feeling you knew who she was. Us shifters have been wondering who Vivian Drake is for the last three years. Truth be told, we’ve wondered if what she said about vampires in her books was real.”

I nodded. “I assure you, most of it is.”

She looked at me curiously then. “Why are you being so honest with me?”

I shrugged again. “What reasons have I to lie?”

She took a long swig of her tea. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she set the glass down. “Maybe because you’re a vampire, and vampires and shifters don’t mix?”

“We’re mixing,” I pointed out. “And I’m only half vampire.”

Juliette shook her head. “Still, you’re part of that world, no matter how much you try to deny it. I’d have figured even someone like you would be keeping their secrets to herself.”

I sighed. “Juliette, I’m being honest with you because you are Mark’s sister. I figure I’ve got no choice but to be honest with you. Mark is going to be a part of my life for as long as we both live, and since his being in my life means that inevitably you will be… I just don’t see the point in not answering a direct question honestly.”

She nodded. “Alright then. Will you tell me if you know Vivian Drake?”

For a moment I hesitated, then decided it couldn’t hurt to tell her that I knew Vivian. Based on what she had told me, I didn’t think she’d be running off to tell any vampires that I actually knew who the betrayer of vampire kind was.

“Yes, I know who she is,” I replied at last. “But for obvious reasons, I cannot tell you who—keeping her identity a secret is paramount to her continued safety.”

“Then why does she do it? Write the books, I mean, if it puts her in danger?” Juliette wondered. “Why would her source put her in that position?”

“Because it’s a good story, even if humans don’t believe a damn word of it.”