"Aye," Connor replied. "But she insists she doesna care, that she loves Roman and will love the bairn, no matter what."
"She's a rare woman." Angus scowled at Gregori to get him to stop making noise.
It worked. Gregori leaned forward. "Can you believe it? We're all a bunch of mutants! Just like the Ninja Turtles."
Angus blinked. "We - we're like... turtles?"
Gregori burst into laughter.
Ian shook his head, grinning.
Connor snorted. "Nay. We have vampire DNA. No turtles."
"Snap!" Gregori rocked back in his chair, laughing. "I had you worried, huh?"
Angus narrowed his eyes. "Connor, if ye doona kill this fledgling, I will. The lad is begging for it."
Ian covered his mouth to hide a grin. Connor simply crossed his arms and looked bored.
Gregori wiped his eyes. "You can't kill me. I'm the vice president of marketing at Romatech."
Angus lifted a brow. "Ye claim to serve a purpose?"
"Damn straight. I sell Roman's Fusion Cuisine. You know those commercials on the Digital Vampire Network?" Gregori smiled proudly. "I make those."
Angus slipped his sgian dubh from its sheath beneath his hose and studied the sharp, lethal knife. "I doona watch the telly much. I'm too busy killing."
Gregori's smile withered. "Sheesh, bro. Get a hobby. Buy yourself a new skirt. Find some joy in life."
Angus smiled grimly. "I find joy in my work, and the bloodier the better." He glanced at Connor. "Do ye want the pleasure, or shall I?"
Connor's mouth twitched.
Gregori jumped to his feet. "You can't hurt me. Roman needs me to sell his stuff."
"And if ye stopped making yer commercials, would Vamps stop drinking Roman's stuff and turn to the competitor?" Angus asked.
With a frown, Gregori loosened his tie. "There is no competition. Roman is the sole producer of synthetic blood."
"Ah." Angus slid a finger down the single-edged blade of his sgian dubh. "Ye see, I've watched enough telly to know what the proper term is for the likes of you. Ye're what we call an expendable crew member."
Gregori's eyes widened. "You're not hurting me. Roman likes me."
Angus tilted his head. "Are ye sure about that, laddie?"
Connor chuckled. "Enough with the jest, Angus. I want to hear about the slayer."
"Verra well." Angus slipped his sgian dubh back into its sheath. He smiled at Connor and Ian, who were both grinning. "We can always kill the fledgling later."
"Shit." Gregori glared at the Scotsmen. "You guys have a sick sense of humor." He shoved Angus's claymore to the side and perched on the corner of the table. "I'd like to see you and your ancient sword take on the slayer armed with a bazooka."
Angus nodded. "Ye might have yer wish before all is done."
"So were ye right?" Connor asked. "Is the slayer Emma Wallace?"
"Aye. I found her wandering about with a bag of stakes."
"Did ye destroy her stakes?" Ian asked.
"Nay." Angus stood and swung his claymore onto his back. "I made sure she left the park. She willna be killing anyone tonight."
"And tomorrow night?" Connor stepped toward him. "Did ye talk to her? Convince her to stop for good?"
"I'll see her tomorrow." Angus pushed open the kitchen door. "Tell Roman no' to worry. I'll take care of Emma Wallace." He left, leaving the door swinging behind him.
"Wait." Connor slipped through the door on a swing and joined him the foyer. "What kind of person is she? Will she be easy to persuade?"
"Nay, she feels strongly about her work. She's verra stubborn. And proud."
"Sounds familiar."
Angus arched a brow. "If ye're saying we're somewhat similar, I've already realized that."
Connor lowered his voice. "Do ye want help?"
"Nay." Angus didn't realize how abrupt his response had been until Connor regarded him with raised eyebrows. He cleared his throat. "I'll handle this on my own."
"I thought our side of the story might be easier for her to believe if she heard it from more than one person."
"Nay." Angus gripped the newel post at the base of the grand staircase. Why this sudden possessiveness when it came to Emma Wallace? Was it due to his pride that he refused to consider her more of a challenge than he could handle? Or was it more? "I'll take care of this. Alone."
Connor inclined his head. "As ye wish."
Angus moved to the center of the staircase spiral where he could see the landing on each floor. It would be faster to teleport to the fifth floor than climb all the stairs.
"She's a bonnie lass," Connor whispered behind him.
Angus whipped around to glare at his friend, but Connor just gave him a knowing look. Bugger. Angus switched his gaze back to the fifth-floor landing. "Will Roman mind if I use his office?"
"Nay. Ye plan to do some research on Miss Wallace?"
"Aye. If I can figure out what motivates her to be a slayer, then remove that motivation, then - "
"She would stop slaying," Connor finished the sentence. "A good plan."
"I hope to make her an ally."
Connor stepped toward him, a doubtful look on his face. "That's a far step, from slayer to ally."
"We brought Austin Erickson over to our side."
"But he was never an actual slayer. Miss Wallace has killed our kind four times that we know of. She's a fiercer enemy than Austin ever was."
"Aye, she's a challenge, but make no mistake." Angus lifted his chin. "I willna be defeated."
With a nod, Connor stepped back. "Good night, then."
"Good night." Angus teleported to the fifth floor, then entered Roman's office. While he waited for the computer to boot up, he helped himself to a bottle of synthetic blood from the mini-fridge. Type O, the same blood type as Emma. Some Vamps considered it too bland and common for their tastes, but Angus had always preferred simple meals. He warmed up a glass in the microwave, then removed it, sniffing the fresh, wholesome aroma. Just like Emma. She came from strong stock. Strong enough to sustain a man forever.
He wandered back to the desk, sipping from the glass. By the time he met her tomorrow night, he'd have all the information he needed.
He could hardly wait for the battle to begin.
Emma dropped her bag of stakes on the kitchen counter, then headed to the fridge to look for breakfast. Or supper. Or whatever you called it after working all night long. Her stomach rumbled with hunger as she opened the refrigerator door.
"Brilliant," she muttered as she stared at one tiny container of low-fat yogurt and a bag of wilted lettuce. She'd forgotten to drop by the store on the way home. It was all that Scotsman's fault. Angus. All the way home, she'd wondered about him - was he a vampire or not?
With a sigh, she grabbed the strawberry-flavored yogurt. Was she overreacting? Angus could be just a normal guy. Yeah, right. She ripped the foil top off the yogurt and stuck a spoon in the container. There was nothing normal about Angus. He was clever, handsome, dreamy in every way, but was he alive? She glanced toward her front door. All three deadbolts were locked, and the blinking light indicated the alarm system was on. Still, a vampire could teleport anywhere.
In her tiny SoHo apartment, she was across the kitchen and in her living room in five steps. She left the yogurt on the coffee table and wandered to the window to peer through the blinds. Dawn would be breaking soon, and she would be safe during the day.
The street was empty except for a row of parked cars and a few early risers who had taken out their dogs. The dogs were doing their business around trees while their sleepy masters waited, a cup of coffee in one hand and a plastic doody sack in the other.
Emma closed the blinds and wandered toward her bright red loveseat. Maybe she should get a dog. Then she wouldn't always be alone. It was hard to have any sort of relationship when she had a job she couldn't discuss and secrets she couldn't share. Unfortunately, her slaying activities might no longer be secret. If Angus was a vampire, he'd know exactly what her stakes were for. The next question was - would he spill her secret to other vampires?
She dug his business card from her pocket. It was white, with a clan crest in the upper left-hand corner. The tartan was a blue and green plaid just like the kilt Angus had been wearing. His name was listed under MacKay Security and Investigation, addresses in London and Edinburgh.