Single White Vampire (Argeneau #3)(24)

"Rachel was looking for you. I said I thought I saw you come out here and said I'd check for her," she explained, still eyeing them with amusement. "She tried to stop me and said she'd go, but it's her wedding—I couldn't let her leave her guests to go chasing after you four reprobates."

Lucern exchanged a glance with the others. They all knew darned well that Rachel had probably hoped to slip outside for a quick nip as their mother had just done. Kate, in her kindness, had made that impossible.

"Why did you call us reprobates?" Gregory asked.

Kate gave an airy wave and laughed. "Because of what you're doing out here."

The four men exchanged glances and shifted into a tighter group, making sure that the open back of the van and the cooler of blood were hidden; then Lucern echoed, "What we're doing?"

"Oh, like it isn't obvious," she snorted. "Sneaking out here, crowding around the van." She shook her head and gave them a condescending look. "I may have been raised in Nebraska, but I've lived in New York long enough to be savvy about you artist types."

Now the looks the men exchanged were bewildered. Artist types? Lucern was a writer, Etienne a program developer, Bastien a businessman and Greg was a therapist. Artist types? And what did she think artist types did anyway? The only way to find out was to ask. Lucern did. "What is it exactly that you think we are doing out here?"



She gave a resigned sigh. "You're smoking pot-joints." She said it as one word.

The men all gaped at her; then Etienne released a disbelieving laugh. "What?"

Kate tsked with exasperation. "Pot. Marijuana. You guys snuck out here for a debbie."

"Er… I believe it's called a doobie," Greg interjected.

"Whatever. That's what you were doing, right?"

"Er…" Lucern began. Then he, Bastien, Etienne and Greg shared a grin.

"Yes. You caught us. We were smoking a debbie," Etienne agreed.

"Doobie," Greg corrected.

"Yes." Bastien nodded. "We'd offer you some, but we… er…"

"Smoked it all up," Etienne finished.

The two men sounded disgustingly apologetic to Lucern's mind. Good Lord.

"Oh, that's okay. I don't smoke anything." She smiled crookedly, then added, "Besides, dinner is about to be served. I think that's why Rachel was looking for you."

"Well then, we should go in." Stepping forward, Lucern took Kate's arm firmly and turned her toward the building. They'd barely taken two steps when he heard the van doors closing and the other men fell into step behind them. Smoking debbies. Good Lord.



Lucern was distracted through dinner, merely picking at the food. It was apparently very good, if Kate's comments were to be believed, but he didn't really have an appetite. He found his mind stuck on his mother's claim that Kate's job depended on her convincing him to cooperate. Lucern didn't know why, but that was really bothering him. A lot.

"… dance, Luc."

Lucern glanced around in confusion. He'd only caught the end of his mother's words, he'd been so deep in thought. He peered at her in question. "What?"

"I said, you should take Kate out on the floor and dance. To support Etienne and Rachel. Someone has to start everyone else dancing."

He glanced toward the dance floor, surprised to see that the bride and groom were dancing. The meal was over, and the first dance had begun. He, as the head of his side of the family, would be expected to join next. By all rights, he should be taking his mother, the matriarch, up there to encourage others to dance, but one look at Marguerite told him that she had started her matchmaking in earnest. She would not be dancing with him.

Sighing, he pushed his seat back and held out a hand to Kate. His editor looked terribly uncertain as she placed her fingers in his and rose—a fact that annoyed him no end, for reasons he couldn't possibly fathom and had no intention of examining too deeply. Telling himself it was just a duty dance, and that his mother couldn't force him to dance with Kate again, Lucern led her onto the dance floor and took her into his arms.

It was a mistake. Kate C. Leever fit in his arms as if she'd been made for him. Her head came up just short of Lucern's chin, her hand was small and soft in his, and the scent of her perfume wafted tantalizing and vaguely exciting to his nose. Without even realizing it, he found himself urging her closer so that his body could meld with hers, his legs and chest brushing her with every step.

Lucern was used to hunger; he experienced it every morning upon awakening. While he slept, his body processed the blood he drank, repairing whatever damage the day had wrought and leaving him dehydrated and in serious need of more. Some days that hunger was worse than others. Some days it was mild enough that he could be distracted by other things as he had been this morning. Still, Lucern knew hunger. He understood thirst. He lived daily with a bone-deep yearning that could become so strong his body would cramp with it. And yet this…

He lowered his head, breathing in the scent of Kate's shampoo mingled with the spice and sweetness of her perfume. She smelled vaguely of vanilla, like a rich and luscious dessert or a bowl of ice cream, and he had the sudden mad urge to lick the nape of her neck and…

Lucern straightened abruptly as he caught hold of his thoughts. Lick her nape? More like bite it. Good Lord, he needed more blood. He'd been rather slack on the consumption end lately. What with Kate's presence and such, he hadn't been sticking to his usual four pints a day. He'd been running on mostly two—which explained his odd hunger now. He was confusing hunger for Kate's blood with hunger for her.