What the hell? They were on the verge of a Vampire Apocalypse and these guys wanted to tease him again for being a bottle-fed baby?
"Lad," Angus grumbled impatiently. "We need to know if ye've ever bitten anyone."
He moved his hands into his lap so they wouldn't see him clenching his fists. "My fangs work just fine."
Zoltan leaned forward. "Then you have bitten someone?"
This was getting too damned personal. "I have never bitten for food. And I've never bitten a mortal."
"Good. I thought so." Roman nodded approvingly, then glanced at the other CMs. "Gregori has always taken the Romatech mission statement quite seriously. Make the world safe for mortals and Vamps alike."
"Ye have never given a mortal reason to fear you?" Angus asked.
Gregori's jaw shifted. Did they think he was some kind of wimp? "I'm sure I have, but they don't remember it. I always wipe memories and clean up after myself."
Roman nodded again. "For a young Vamp, Gregori has shown an impressive talent for mind control."
Again with how young he was. Gregori gritted his teeth. Next they would congratulate him for being potty trained.
"He also has an excellent track record for getting a job done," Roman continued.
Gregori arched a brow. "Am I applying for a new job?"
"Have you ever fought in battle?" Zoltan pressed. "Ever killed anyone?"
Gregori glared at him. "Why? Are you looking for an assassin? I left my resume at home with my AK - 47."
Angus chuckled. "Ye're no' a killer, lad."
Don't push me. Gregori shoved back his chair and stood. First Simone had called him a coward, and now these guys were insinuating it. "Enough with the bullshit. You guys know I never fought in battle. I wanted to. I trained for it, but Roman promised my mom he'd never put me at risk. I went along with it for her sake, but that doesn't mean I need to grow a pair. If there's a fight in our future, you can count on me."
"We're no' questioning yer bravery, lad," Angus said. "In fact, we're relying on it."
"For what? Tell me what you want."
"You have different skills than we do," Jean-Luc said. "Because of your youth you know how to maneuver through the modern world of business and technology."
Roman smiled. "And you've proven yourself adept at handling people and persuading them to do what you want."
"Without threatening them with a sword," Angus added. "Ye have a modern approach that we're lacking."
Gregori frowned. No doubt they thought they were complimenting him, but somehow he felt like he was being called manipulative. Using a sword might be old-fashioned, but it was blatantly honest. "I'm not that bad with a sword, you know. I've been practicing with Ian at the school during my time off."
"We don't need a swordsman for this job," Zoltan said.
Angus drummed his fingers on the table. "The problem is we doona want Sean Whelan to act as our sole representative to the president."
"We don't trust him," Zoltan muttered.
"So we need our own special envoy," Jean-Luc added. "Someone we can trust to represent the best interests of Vamps all over the world. A Vamp who is modern, works hard at a steady job, and has never bitten a mortal. A Vamp who appears completely safe and harmless."
Safe and harmless. Somehow those words felt like the worst of insults. Gregori yanked at his tie to loosen it. "You're choosing me 'cause you think I'm an Undead Pillsbury Doughboy?" He shook his head. "No. Hell, no."
Roman gave him an irritated look. "You're a marketing expert, Gregori. You understand the importance of how we are perceived. If we're seen as a bunch of dangerous, bloodthirsty monsters, it could mean the end for us. You can honestly present the image we want because it is what you are: a modern-day, well-educated, hardworking, harmless Vamp."
Harmless. Shit. He was tempted to sink his teeth into a mortal just to prove them wrong. But he kept his frustration in check. "Look, it's late, so let's continue this conversation tonight. If you give me a few hours, I'm sure I can come up with a better plan."
"Nay!" Angus thumped a fist on the table. "We doona need another plan. The decision was made. The vote was unanimous."
"All the Coven Masters agreed." Roman stood, his expression stern and stubborn. "Gregori, we're counting on you. You are the plan."
Chapter Three
They were counting on him. Every freaking Coven Master in the Vamp world. Gregori headed for his office at Romatech, still reeling from the news.
He didn't let anyone see how tense he was. He even grinned at Laszlo when he passed him in the hall, and gave him a high five. Stay cool. Act like you belong. It's the best way to fit in. That was the mantra Gregori had adopted eighteen years ago, after the shock of waking up to find himself Undead.
And now he was the plan? He didn't know if he should be flattered or pissed. Flattered, maybe, if thousands of Vamps were trusting him to keep them safe.
He snorted as he wrenched his office door open. Safe? What a joke! For the last eighteen years, he'd been the one the old warrior guys threatened to kill for the fun of it.
He shut the door, then hit the light switch so hard, it cracked the plastic cover plate in two.
"Shit." He strode across the office and skirted his desk to peer outside the window. Lampposts illuminated the parking lot, but as always, his gaze wandered to the same dark spot, the place where he'd died as a mortal.
There were no cars to obstruct his view. Most Vamps simply teleported from place to place. Sometimes Gregori drove to work to make sure he remembered how, but as the years slipped by, those mortal skills seemed increasingly unimportant and unnecessary.
Memories swirled through his mind - the dark night, the terror and pain of the attack, the hot burn of blood and icy fear of death, the muted screams from his mother as he'd faded away. The memories haunted him for only a few seconds before he knocked them away. Over the years, he'd learn to react quickly.
He'd been transformed in 1993, six years after Roman invented synthetic blood, so he was something of a rarity in the vampire world. It gave the old guys one of their favorite labels for teasing him. The bottle-fed baby.
A few nights after being transformed, he had realized that if he was going to succeed in his new life, he needed to embrace it. Leave the old world behind. Stay cool. Act like you belong.
So he'd worked hard at fitting into the vampire world. He'd practiced mind control, levitation, and teleportation until he was just as skilled as the old guys. He'd worked hard at Romatech, and in 1998 he'd become vice president of marketing.
In the mortal world, he would have been considered a great success, but in this world, surrounded by crusty old warriors, he could never escape the stigma of his youth. He hated being the new kid, the bottle-fed baby, the one they referred to as the fledgling. That made him feel like a helpless little bird with its mouth wide open, begging the older and wiser birds to bring him a freaking worm.
It frustrated him no end, but he put up with the crap. Why? Because he loved being eternally young.
Who wouldn't love it? For eighteen years he'd enjoyed the body and energy of a twenty-nine-year-old. He could work hard, play hard, and party all night. Totally forget that if he were still mortal, he'd be a forty-seven-year-old dullard, saddled with a wife and a couple of kids.
Only his mother seemed aware of his true age. She reminded him of it daily when she lamented her lack of grandchildren.
With a sigh, Gregori turned away from the window. What an ironic twist of fate. The same Vamps who had teased him for being young now needed him for his youth.
Flattered or pissed? Flattered, yes. Being special envoy to the president was a big job, and he'd assured the guys in the conference room that he would succeed. But damn! If they were going to hinge their plan of action on him, they should have invited him to the meeting.
Pissed. Definitely. He grabbed a stress ball off his desk and gave it a squeeze. How dare they plan his life without consulting him? The old geezers were centuries old and still thought being a Coven Master was akin to being a king. If they wanted his help, they should have asked. They should have shown a little respect. But no, they believed they had the right to decide things for him.
The fledgling. The new kid who was safe and harmless. Who couldn't hurt a fly.
Pop! The stress ball exploded in his hand.