Single White Vampire (Argeneau #3)(32)

The taxi chose that moment to give another impatient honk.

"Gotta go!" Kate cried, and pulled the door closed with a slam. The sound echoed through the house, followed by the tap-tap of her rush down the porch steps. Then silence fell.

Lucern was transfixed. It was as if he had been poleaxed. Conference? His mother hadn't said anything about a conference. She'd said Romantic Times was a magazine. A book club. Someone who would want an interview. Kate must be confused. Dear God, she'd better be confused.

He hurried to the door and stared through the shaded glass just as the taxi pulled away. Lucern watched it.

He stood for a moment, Kate's words playing through his head; then he turned and started up the stairs. R. T. She must be confused. He would look up Romantic Times magazine on the Internet just to make sure she was confused.

Barely three minutes later, Lucern's roar echoed through the house.



Chapter Seven



"I am not doing it," Lucern announced, fury underlying his calm proclamation.

"Yes, you are." Marguerite Argeneau filled in another word in her daily crossword puzzle. She'd been working on the damned thing since he'd arrived.

Marguerite disliked the smell and noise of the city. Lucern's father, Claude, hadn't liked it any better. Besides which, living in the city meant moving every ten years to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the fact that they didn't age. Lucern's parents had avoided it all by purchasing several lots of land an hour outside of Toronto, and building their home in the midst of them. They thus had no neighbors near enough to be a concern, and needed not move at all if they did not wish. At least, they hadn't had to move in the thirty years since they'd built it.

Lucern now sat in the family mansion and watched his mother fill in another word. He had no idea why she bothered with the bloody crossword; centuries of living combined with a perfect memory made it less than challenging. Shrugging, he glared at her and repeated, "I am not doing it."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"All right, you two. Stop it," Bastien interrupted. He had ridden out to the Argeneau family home after Lucern had called him, ranting unintelligibly about being tricked and shouting that he was going to wring their precious mother's neck. Bastien hadn't really believed his brother would do it, but curiosity had made him rush out to see what would happen. He'd arrived just behind Lucern, entered the house on his brother's heels, and still didn't know what the man was upset about.

He really wanted to know. It was rare to see Lucern with the fire presently burning in his eyes. Grumpy, surly, impatient? Yes, Luc was often all of those. Impassioned with rage? No. Kate C. Leever had lit a fire under him the likes of which Bastien hadn't seen in his five hundred years. And Bastien was sure this had something to do with that inestimable editor. Luc had shouted her name like a curse several times while ranting on the phone. It was one of the few words Bastien had actually caught.

Turning to his brother, Bastien asked, "So what exactly is the problem, Luc? I thought you were willing to trade an interview with this Romantic Weekly magazine to get rid of Kate. What's happened to change that?"

"Romantic Times," Lucern corrected shortly. "And it isn't a bloody interview—that's what changed it. It's a damned conference."

"A conference?" Bastien glanced at his mother suspiciously. "Did you know this?"

Marguerite Argeneau shrugged mildly, which was as close as she would come to a confession. "I don't see the problem. It's just a couple days in a hotel with some readers."

"Five days, mother," Lucern snapped. "Five days in a hotel with some five thousand fans. And then there are balls, book-signings and—"

"One book-signing," his mother interrupted. "One book-signing with a couple hundred other writers there. You won't be the focus. You'll be lucky to get any attention at all."

Lucern was not calmed. "And what about the balls and awards dinners and—"

"All the functions are held in the hotel. You won't need to risk the sun. And—"

"I won't need to risk the sun because I'm not doing it!" Lucern roared. "I can't go."

"You are going," Marguerite began firmly, but Bastien interrupted her. "Why can't you go?" he asked Lucern.

"It's in the states, Bastien," his brother said grimly. "I can't possibly get blood through Customs at the airport. And I can't go without blood for five days." He could, actually, but not very comfortably. Cramps would cripple him. and his body would begin to consume itself.

Bastien frowned. "I could ship blood to you once you're there. We do such things all the time."

"There. You see!" Their mother crowed with triumph. "You are going."

"Thanks, Brother." Lucern sneered at the younger man, then glared ferociously at his mother. "I am not going!" he said again.

"You gave your word."

"I was tricked into giving my word. You led me to believe it was an interview."

"I never said it was an interview," Marguerite argued. Then she stressed, "You gave your word you would go and you are going."