Single White Vampire (Argeneau #3)(85)

Lucern just stared at her agape.

She smiled. "The sparks have been flying off of you two all week. And no one could miss how protective she was of you, or how protective you were of her."

Lucern accepted the morning cocktail. He downed it in one gulp, then handed the empty glass back. What Kathryn Falk said was true, unfortunately. But Lady Barrow couldn't know that the protectiveness on Kate's part had been purely professional in nature—she had promised to look after him and had fulfilled that promise beautifully. As for the sparks…

Oh, well I do try to keep my writers happy, Luc.

Lucern's mouth tightened as Kate's words rang through his head. He didn't think she had faked all of her passion, or that she had done it as part of her job, but she had left him this morning as if none of it mattered. Or as if she feared he might take it to mean more than it did and cause an awkward scene or something. And he might very well have, he realized. He might have done something as foolish as ask her to come home to Toronto with him, or…

His mind shied away from the "or." Lucern wasn't ready to admit his possible desire to spend an eternity with Kate. To laugh and cry and fight and make love with such passion for centuries. No, he wasn't ready for that.

A glass appeared before his face, which Lady Barrow had refilled for him. When he hesitated, she said, "She'll come to her senses, Luc. You're a handsome, gifted, successful man. Kate will come to her senses. She just needs time."

Lucern grunted and accepted the drink. "Time is something I have lots of."



The comment was to weigh heavily on Lucern's mind over the following weeks. He returned to the hotel with Lady Barrow, but didn't stay any longer than it took to pack his bags. He headed back to the airport and took the first available flight back to Toronto.

His house, his safe haven for some time, seemed cold and empty when he entered it. There was nothing there but memories. Kate sat on his couch, lecturing him about the importance of readers. She rushed anxiously to his side in the kitchen to exclaim over a head wound he didn't have. She laughed, did a little dance and gave him a high-five in his office. She moaned and writhed with passion in his guest-room bed, which he had pathetically taken to sleeping in. She haunted his mind, filling it nearly every moment of the day. But that was all she did.

Lucern got the Internet chat program she had requested he get, and he often exchanged instant messages with Lady Barrow, Jodi and some of the other writers he had met at the conference, but while he had Kate on his list of contacts, she never appeared online. Jodi seemed to think she was blocking everyone. He considered sending her an e-mail, but couldn't think what to say. Instead, he sat at his desk, listening to time tick by as he watched and waited for her to appear online. Time was something he had a lot of.

It was nearly two weeks before he grew tired of waiting and watching. In disgust one morning, he turned the chat program off and opened his word-processing program. He thought he would make his first attempt at a work of fiction. Instead, he found himself recounting the story of his first meeting with Kate, then everything that followed that meeting.

It was a cathartic experience writing the book, like being there and reliving each moment. He laughed at some of the events he hadn't found funny at the time, like his codpiece getting caught on the tablecloth, and his frantic attempt to get condoms. He didn't laugh at her leaving, so that's was where he stopped the story he had entitled simply Kate.

He put his last entry in the story some few weeks after he began, then pushed wearily to his feet. He felt a little lighter than he had upon leaving the conference, but not much. He was grateful he had met and spent time with Kate Leever. He would always carry her in his heart. But he was both sad and angry that she hadn't given them a chance to have more.

He switched off his computer, glancing angrily at the answering machine on his desk. Lissianna, who had insisted they all needed one since they usually slept during the day when most business was done, had bought the machines for everyone last year at Christmas. Lucern hadn't bothered to listen to his messages in the past, but he had since returning home. He'd kept hoping that Kate would call, even if just to ask when he would have another book done. But she hadn't called once. And none of the messages on the machine tonight were from her, either.

There was a message from his mother, and others from Lissianna, Bastien and Etienne. Lucern had been avoiding his family since returning from the conference, and while he knew they were worried about him, he didn't feel like talking. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, really, except for the people from the conference. He had met them all with Kate. Somehow, chatting to them over the computer made him feel closer to her. And sometimes Jodi or one of the other women had a bit of news about Kate that had made its way down the writers' grapevine. Nothing important though. She was editing so-and-so's book right now. She had rejected that model's book. She had a cold coming on. She had fought it off.

Lucern ignored the blinking light of his answering machine and headed for his bedroom. His stomach was cramping with hunger, and his body was achy with the need for blood, but it seemed like a lot of effort to go downstairs and raid the fridge. He didn't even have the energy to undress. Luc simply walked into his room and collapsed on the bed. He'd sleep for a while, he decided. A long while. He'd feed later.



The sun was just rising when Lucern fell asleep; it had long gone down when he woke up. And the aching that had nagged at him when he lay down was much worse. He had to feed. Rolling out of bed, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He drained two bags of blood while standing in front of the refrigerator, then took another back upstairs. The bag was nearly empty when he entered his office—which was a good thing, since the sight of someone sitting at his desk startled him enough to spill the last few drops on the floor.