Chapter One
Cale was just raising his hand to knock at the door when it
swung open. A tall fellow with short dark hair and a phone
pressed to his ear peered out at him.
“Cale Valens?”
“Yes,” Cale answered, knowing the guards at the front gate
had called up to the house warning of his arrival.
“Come on in.” The fellow stepped back to make way, pushing
a button to end his call before offering a hand to
Cale. “Justin Bricker. Most people call me Bricker.”
Cale accepted the hand, shaking it politely as he stomped
his feet on the welcome mat a couple of times to remove the
worst of the snow on his boots. He then stepped inside. “I
was told I should speak to Garrett Mortimer.”
“Yeah, I know. The boys at the gate called the house and
said as much, but Mortimer’s down at the garage with Sam.”
Bricker shut the door and then turned to face him, waving
the phone vaguely. “I was just calling down there to tell
him you were here, but there’s no answer. Hopefully that
means they’re on their way to the house.”
“Hopefully?” Cale removed his brown leather winter coat.
“Yeah, well, they may have been getting busy in one of the
cells,” Bricker explained wryly as he took the coat and
quickly hung it in a closet beside the door. “They’ve only
been life mates for eight or nine months and are still
pretty into each other.” He closed the closet door, swung
back to Cale, and then headed up the hall toward the back
of the house. “Come on. I’ll get you a bag of blood while
we wait.”
Cale followed, recalling what his uncle Lucian had said
about these men. Mortimer and Bricker used to be partners,
enforcers hunting rogues vampires, but now they ran the
enforcer house together. Bricker was the younger man and
backed up Mortimer, who was now in charge of all the rest
of the enforcers.
“One bag or two?” Bricker asked, leading him into a large,
cupboard-lined kitchen with an island in the middle.
“One is fine,” Cale murmured.
The younger immortal immediately opened a refrigerator to
reveal a large amount of bagged blood stacked up alongside
various mortal foodstuffs. The sight was a bit startling.
Cale hadn’t eaten mortal food in more than a millennium and
only ever had blood in his own refrigerator. The thought
crossed his mind to wonder if it was really hygienic to
have raw meat and vegetables so close to the blood.
“O positive all right?” Bricker asked, sorting through the
bags in the fridge.
“Fine.” Hygienic or not, he was hungry.
“Here you go.”
Cale accepted the bag Bricker held out with a murmured
thanks, waited the few seconds it took for his canines to
descend, and then quickly popped the clear bag of crimson
liquid to his fangs.
“Grab a seat,” Bricker urged, using his foot to hook one of
the wooden barstools tucked under the island and dragging
it out for himself. He slapped a bag of blood to his own
teeth as he sat on the stool.
Cale pulled a second stool out, but had barely settled on
the high seat when the soft shush of sliding glass doors
opening and closing sounded from the next room. He followed
Bricker’s glance expectantly to the open door across from
them. It led into what was obviously a dining room. The end
of a dark oak table was visible, as well as an end chair,
but the door and whoever had entered were out of sight.
However, their voices reached the two of them easily, and
Cale found himself unintentionally eavesdropping on what he
soon realized was a private conversation.
“Are you sure you’re ready, love?” a man asked in solemn
tones.
“Yes, of course, I’m sure,” a woman answered, although she
didn’t sound all that certain in Cale’s opinion. He
wondered who she was and what she was claiming to be ready
for.
Apparently the male speaker had noted the uncertainty as
well. “Are you, Sam? It’s been eight months and you—”
“I know,” the woman interrupted. “And I’m sorry I’ve
dragged my feet about it as I have. It wasn’t because I
don’t love you, Mortimer. I do, but—”
“But you didn’t want to leave your sisters,” the man said
with apparent understanding.
Cale felt his eyebrows rise as he recognized the names.
Mortimer was who he was here to see, but so was Sam. She
apparently had a sister named Alex, and Aunt Marguerite had
a “feeling” this Alex might be the woman he’d waited for
his whole life. Cale wasn’t holding out much hope that
Marguerite was right. As old as he was, he’d pretty much
given up hope on ever finding a life mate. He’d pretty much
resigned himself to being eternally single. But he also
hadn’t wanted to offend the woman, so had agreed to come
meet this Alex.
Curious now to see the couple who were speaking, Cale
shifted slightly on his stool, leaning to the side, but it
was no good. They must have stopped at the door they’d just
entered. They also obviously thought they were having a
private conversation, and he glanced to Bricker, expecting
him to make some noise to alert them to the fact they
weren’t alone, but the younger immortal almost seemed to be
holding his breath as he waited for what they might say
next.
Cale found himself frowning around the bag in his mouth and
was about to scrape his stool back to warn the couple, but
the woman’s next words made him pause.
“It wasn’t because of Jo and Alex.”
Cale stilled curiously, hoping to hear more about this Alex.
“That was just an excuse, Mortimer. One I even had myself
half convinced of,” the woman admitted on an apologetic
sigh. “But Jo said something to me after she met Nicholas
that made me realize it wasn’t the real reason.”
“What was that?” Mortimer asked quietly.
“She pointed out that, after you turn me, I would still
have ten years to try to find them life mates. She said I
was just afraid, and I think—no, I know now she was right.”
“Afraid of what, Sam?” Mortimer asked with quiet
concern. “The pain of turning?”
“No … … Although that’s scary on its own,” she admitted on
a wry laugh. Her voice was more serious when she
added, “But really I was afraid that you would wake up one
day and realize … … well, that I’m just me,” she finished
helplessly.
“I don’t understand. I know who you are, Sam. What—?”
“I know, but—This is silly, but, while I’m smart, and
hardworking, and basically nice, I’m not …” … Sam’s voice
was slightly embarrassed as she said, “Well, I’m just not
some sexy, gorgeous vamp type of gal who can hold the
attention of a guy like you for eternity.”
“Honey, you’re beautiful. I—”
“I look like Olive Oyle, Mortimer.” The words burst into
the air on a breath of exasperation, as if she thought that
should be obvious.
Cale tore the now-empty bag from his mouth and glanced to
Bricker with confusion, his voice a bare whisper as he
asked, “Olive Oyle?”
Bricker removed his own bag and explained in a hushed
tone, “Popeye’s girlfriend.” When Cale continued to stare
at him blankly, he rolled his eyes. “She’s a cartoon
character; dark hair, huge eyes, and spindly as a stick
figure. Sam is—”
“Honey, I have eyes. I know you look like Olive Oyle.”
Bricker stopped his explanation on a low curse and squeezed
his eyes closed briefly. He then turned his head back
toward the door, muttering with disgust, “You old guys are
so bloody smooth. Honestly.”
Cale would have liked to argue the point, but really, even
he—who hadn’t bothered with women in what seemed like
forever—knew Mortimer’s words had been the wrong thing to
say. Obviously, Mortimer realized it too because he began
to babble, “I mean, you’re beautiful to me. I love your
smile and the way your eyes twinkle when you’re amused or
teasing and—”
“But I still look like Olive Oyle,” Sam said in tones that
made it obvious she wasn’t impressed with the man’s efforts
to save the situation.
“Not really.” There was a distinct lack of conviction in
Mortimer’s voice, but it was stronger when he added, “Look,
honey, the point is, I don’t see you through rose-colored
glasses. My love isn’t based on some shallow fantasy image
of you, and I’m not going to suddenly wake up one day and
notice you have knobby knees.”
“Knobby knees?” she cried.
“I—No,” he assured her quickly, sounding a bit panicked
now. “No, of course they aren’t knobby. I just mean I know
exactly how you look. I do see you, and you’re what I want,
not some silly fantasy like Jessica Rabbit was.”
“Jessica Rabbit?” Sam echoed with disbelief. “You had
fantasies about Jessica Rabbit? A cartoon rabbit?”
Cale’s eyebrows rose at that. He’d been alive a long time
and had fantasized about a lot of things, but never a
cartoon rabbit.
“Well not as a rabbit,” Mortimer muttered, sounding a bit
chagrined. “And not as a cartoon character. I wasn’t really—
I mean, I didn’t want to hook up with her or anything. She
was just a representation of the type of woman I thought I
might end up with.”
“Voluptuous and sexy,” Sam suggested.
“Exactly,” Mortimer said, sounding relieved.
Cale didn’t need Bricker’s groan to tell him that was
possibly the stupidest thing the man could say. Dark hair,
huge eyes, and a stick figure didn’t suggest voluptuous and
sexy to him.
“Mortimer,” Sam said, her voice hard, “I’m neither
voluptuous nor sexy. If that’s what you want, why spend
eternity with me?”
“Honey, you are sexy. You’re smart, and brains are really
sexy as hell.”
“Right,” Sam snapped, obviously not buying that line.
“Gad!” Bricker barked.
When the younger immortal leapt off his stool and hurried
toward the dining-room door, Cale followed. He entered the
room on the other man’s heels, his eyes moving with
interest over the couple peering toward them with surprise.
Bricker’s description of dark hair, big eyes, and spindly
as a stick figure fit Sam, Cale decided. It was probably
also the most unattractive way to put it. The woman did
have dark hair, but only in that it wasn’t blond. There
were tints of light brown and even red in her hair that
made for a lush, almost auburn. As for her eyes, Cale had
always found large eyes an attractive feature, but they did
tend to dominate this woman’s thin face. He suspected they
would be lovely if she had a little more meat on her to
round her cheeks out a bit. Actually, the woman could have
done with a little more rounding everywhere. Her body was
on the point of being emaciated. It made him wonder if she
didn’t have some ailment of the thyroid or something.
He shifted his gaze to Garrett Mortimer then, but barely
got an impression of fair hair and a muscular body before
Bricker paused before the couple, and snapped, “For cripes
sake, you two! What are you doing? Sam, you love Mortimer,
and he loves you, and that’s what he’s trying to tell you,
he’s just too stupid to get it out right. But he loves and
wants you just the way you are.” He shook his head with
disgust. “You should be secure in that knowledge by now for
God’s sake. The two of you have been going at it like a
pair of bunnies for months, with no sign of letting up.”
“Bricker!” Sam squawked, flushing bright pink as she
glanced from the enforcer to Cale with a mortification he
suspected wouldn’t be nearly as strong had he, a stranger,
not been present.
“Oh, right,” Bricker muttered, glancing back toward him
with a sigh that suggested he’d briefly forgotten Cale’s
presence. “Sam, Mortimer, this is Cale Valens. Cale, this
is Garrett Mortimer and Sam Willan.”
“Cale,” Mortimer said slowly, offering a hand, and then
recognition lit his face. “Martine Argeneau’s son.”
“Yes.” Cale shook the offered hand politely and then
glanced again to Sam. Much to his surprise, the
embarrassment that had been coloring her face a moment ago
appeared to have slipped away, replaced with an interest
that was sharp and focused.
“Are you single, Mr. Valens?” Sam asked as she moved
forward to shake his hand as well.
Cale raised an eyebrow at the blunt question, but glanced
to Bricker when he released a short, sharp laugh.
“I see your agreeing to turn hasn’t dampened your
determination to see Alex settled with an immortal, Sam,”
Bricker commented with amusement, then warned Cale, “Look
out. She’ll be holding a dinner party and introducing the
two of you by week’s end.”
“Well, why not?” Sam sounded a touch defensive. “You never
know. They might suit each other.”
“Honey,” Mortimer said on a sigh, “the chances of Alex’s
being a possible life mate for an immortal are pretty slim.
It’s amazing that Jo turned out to be Nicholas’s life mate.
It’s very rare to find three mortal sisters who suit—”
“Chances shmances,” Sam interrupted firmly. “Besides,
there’s no harm in introducing them and seeing if they
wouldn’t suit. Alex would make a good immortal. She’s
smart, successful, and already works nights. I’ll just call
her and see if she can come over for dinner.” Sam started
to turn away, but Mortimer caught her arm.
“Why don’t we find out why Cale is here and see if he even
has time to stay for dinner first?” he suggested quietly.
Sam hesitated, but then glanced to Cale. “Can you stay for
dinner?”
When he nodded, she grinned and then whirled away again.
“Thank you for humoring her,” Mortimer said on a sigh, as
they watched her cross the room.
Cale shrugged. “I am not humoring her so much as
Marguerite.”
“Marguerite?” Sam stopped abruptly in the kitchen doorway
and spun around, her already large eyes appearing even
larger in her startled face.
Cale’s eyebrows lifted. The woman was almost vibrating with
an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. He was about to read
her mind when Mortimer captured his attention by echoing
her exclamation in a deeper, though no less startled, voice.
“Marguerite?”
Cale glanced to the man, and then to Bricker, both of whom
were now peering at him with intense interest. Grimacing,
he admitted, “Marguerite seems to have a bee in her bonnet
about me meeting Sam’s sister, Alex.”
“She does?” Sam breathed, taking several steps toward them.
Cale found himself shifting uncomfortably as he
admitted, “Yes. She seems to think we might suit each other
… … I expect she’s wrong, but it can’t hurt to humor her
and meet your sister to see one way or the other.”
“I’ll have Alex come over at once!” Sam spun away again,
this time making it out of the room before anyone spoke.
A snort of amusement brought Cale’s glance to Bricker as
the younger immortal asked, “You’re kidding right?”
“About what?” Cale asked, scowling. He didn’t like being
laughed at, and the younger man was definitely laughing. He
was also eyeing him with a combination of pity and,
strangely, what appeared to be envy.
“About not expecting Marguerite to be right,” Bricker
explained, and then slapped him on the back. “Buddy, if
Marguerite is having one of her ‘feelings’ that you and
Alex will suit, you’re as good as mated. It’s what
Marguerite does. She finds life mates for anyone and
everyone she can. She’s hooked up every single couple who
have found each other the last few years.”
“Every Argeneau couple,” Mortimer corrected firmly. “She
was not responsible for Sam and me.”
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Bricker
said dryly. “She probably suggested Lucian send us to that
job in cottage country in the hopes that one of us would
suit one of the sisters.”
Mortimer rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “She couldn’t
have known about Sam and her sisters. I don’t think she’s
even been to Decker’s cottage.”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Bricker asked with amusement.
“Tell me what?” Mortimer asked, suddenly wary.
“Marguerite helped him find the place. Since he was always
so busy on the job, she vetted the available properties and
suggested the one next to Sam and her sisters was the
nicest.”
“Christ,” Mortimer muttered.
Bricker laughed, but Cale simply peered from one man to the
other curiously. “Is she really that good at finding mates
for immortals?”
“Oh yeah,” Bricker assured him. “So, if Marguerite thinks
Alex is the one for you, it’s in the bag. It looks like
your bachelor days are done, my friend. Bet you can’t wait.”
Cale found himself frowning at the suggestion, and said a
bit stiffly, “Not all of us are lonely and in need of a
life mate. Some of us manage to live relatively happy, busy
lives without one.”
“Yeah right,” Bricker said with disbelief.
Cale scowled, but didn’t argue the point further. Why
bother? It wasn’t really true anyway.
“You have to be kidding me.” Alex Willan stared at the man
standing on the other side of her desk. Peter Cunningham,
or Pierre as he preferred to be called, was her head cook.
He was also short, bearded, and had beady little eyes.
She’d always thought he resembled a weasel, but never so
much as she did at that moment. “You can’t quit just like
that. The new restaurant opens in two weeks.”
“Yes I know.” He gave her a sad little moue. “But really
Alexandra, he is offering a king’s ransom for me to—”
“Of course he is. He’s trying to ruin me,” she snapped.
Peter shrugged. “Well, if you were to beat their offer …”…
Alex’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t help noticing that he’d
said “beat” rather than “match” or even “come close.” The
little creep really was a weasel with no loyalty at all … …
but she needed him.
“How much?” she asked sharply, and barely managed to keep
from hyperventilating at the amount he murmured. Dear God
that was three times what she was paying him and twice what
she could afford … … which he knew, of course.
It was a ridiculous sum. No chef earned that, and he wasn’t
worth it. Peter was good, but not that good. It didn’t make
any sense that Jacques Tournier, the owner of Chez Joie,
would offer him that much. But then Alex could suddenly see
what the plan was. Jacques was luring the man away in a
deliberate attempt to leave her high and dry. He’d keep him
on for two or three weeks, just long enough to cause scads
of trouble for her, then he’d fire him under some pretext
or other.
Alex opened her mouth, prepared to warn Pierre, but the
smug expression on his face stopped her. Peter had always
been an egotistical bastard. It was bad enough when he was
only the sous-chef, but in the short time since she’d
promoted him to head chef, his ego had grown to ten times
its previous bloated state. No, she thought with a sigh, he
wouldn’t believe her. He’d think it just sour grapes.
“I know you can’t afford it,” Peter said pityingly. Then
with something less than sympathy, he added, “Just admit it
so I can stop wasting my time and get out of here.”
Alex’s mouth tightened. “Well, if you knew, why even bother
suggesting it?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was totally without loyalty,”
he admitted with a shrug. “Were you to beat their offer, I
would have stayed.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly
“De rien,” he said, and turned toward the door.
Alex almost let him walk out, but her conscience got the
better of her. Whether he’d believe her or not, she had to
at least try to warn him that he was setting himself up for
a fall. Once Jacques fired him—and she didn’t doubt for a
minute he would—Peter would be marked. The entire industry
would know that he’d left her for them, and then lost that
job. Even if people didn’t suspect the truth of what
happened and label him a putrid little weasel, they would
think he’d been fired for something.
Alex had barely begun to speak her thoughts, however,
before Peter was shaking his head. Still, she rushed on
with it, warning him as her conscience dictated. The moment
she fell silent, he sneered at her with derision.
“I knew you would be upset, Alexandra, but making up such a
ridiculous story to get me to stay is just sad. The truth
is, I have been selling myself cheap for some time now.
I’ve built up a reputation as an amazing chef these last
several weeks while cooking in your stead—”
“Two weeks,” Alex corrected impatiently. “It’s only been
two weeks since I promoted you to head chef. And you’re
cooking my recipes, not coming up with brilliant ones of
your own. Surely you can see how ridiculous it is that
someone would pay you that kind of money for—”
“No, I do not see it as ridiculous. I am brilliant. Jacques
sees my potential and that I deserve to be paid my value.
But you obviously don’t. You have been trying to keep me
under. Now I will get paid what I deserve and enjoy some of
the profits produced by my skills.” Mouth tightening, he
added, “And you’re not going to trick me into staying here
with such stupid stories.”
With a little sniff of disgust, Peter turned on his heel
and sailed out of her office with his nose up and a self-
righteous air that made her want to gag.
Alex closed her eyes. At the moment, she wanted nothing
more than to yell a string of obscenities after the man,
and suspected she would enjoy his fall when it came.
Unfortunately, her own fall would come first.
Cursing, she pulled her Rolodex toward her and began to
rifle through the numbers. Perhaps one of her old friends
from culinary school could help for a night or two. Christ,
she was ruined if she didn’t find someone and quickly.
An hour later, Alex reached the W’s in her Rolodex with no
prospects when the phone rang. Irritated with the
interruption when she was having a crisis, Alex snapped it
up. She barked “hello,” the fingers of her free hand still
flipping through the cards one after the other in quick
succession.
“I have someone I want you to meet.”
Alex frowned at the strange greeting, slow to recognize her
sister’s voice. Once she did, a deep sigh slid from her
lips, and she shook her head wearily. She really didn’t
need this right now. She was heartily sick of the parade of
men Sam had been presenting her with over the last eight
months.
It had been bad enough when she and their younger sister,
Jo, had both been single and available, but now that Jo had
Nicholas, Sam was focusing all of her attention on finding
Alex a man. She supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if even one
of the men Sam had insisted on introducing her to had shown
some mild interest in her, but after barely more than a
moment, and sometimes as little as a few seconds, every
single one had simply ignored her, or in some cases, even
walked away.
It was giving her a complex. She’d even started dieting,
something she’d sworn she’d never do, and exercising, a
pastime she detested, as well as trying different makeup
and fashion choices in an effort to boost her now-flagging
ego.
This really was the last thing she needed, but Alex knew
Sam’s heart was in the right place and forced herself to
hang on to her patience and even managed to keep her tone
to only mildly exasperated.
“Sam, honey, my head chef just quit, and I have one hour to
replace him before the dinner set start to arrive. I don’t
have time for your matchmaking right now.”
“Oh, but, Alex, I’m pretty sure this is the one,” she
protested.
“Right, well, maybe he is, but if he isn’t a world-class
chef, I’m not interested,” Alex said grimly. “I’m hanging
up now.”
“He is!”
Alex paused with the phone halfway back to its cradle and
pulled it back to her ear. “What? He is what?”
“A chef?” Sam said, but it sounded like a question rather
than an announcement. It was enough to make Alex narrow her
eyes.
“For real?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes.” Sam sounded more certain this time.
“Where did he last work?” she asked cautiously.
“I—I’m not sure,” Sam hedged. “He’s from Europe.”
“Europe?” Alex asked, her interest growing. They had some
fine culinary schools in Europe. She’d attended one of them.
“Yes,” Sam assured her. “Actually, that’s why I was sure he
would be the one. He’s into cooking and fine cuisine like
you.”
Alex drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the desk. It
seemed like just too much good fortune that her sister
wanted to introduce her to a chef the very day she was in
desperate need of one. On the other hand, she’d suffered
enough bad luck the last few months that a bit of good luck
was surely in order. Finally, she asked, “What’s his name?”
“Cale.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Alex murmured, and then realized
how stupid it was to say that. She didn’t know every single
chef in France. In fact, she only knew a few from her days
in culinary school … … and the names of the famous ones of
course.
“Look, he’s a chef, and you need one. What can it hurt to
meet him?” Sam asked. “I swear you won’t be sorry. I really
think this will work out. Marguerite is never wrong. You
have to meet him.”
“Marguerite?” Alex asked with confusion, recognizing the
name. She was the aunt of one of Mortimer’s band mates,
Decker Argeneau. Alex had never met her, but Sam mentioned
her a lot. However, she had no idea what the woman had to
do with any of this.
“Just meet him,” Sam pleaded.
Alex sighed, her fingers tapping a rapid tattoo. She could
sense that Sam was lying about something in her
determination to get her to meet the man, and really, she
didn’t have time to waste at the moment. On the other hand,
Sam hadn’t hesitated to say he could cook and had even said
it was why she’d thought they might hit it off, so Alex
suspected that part of it was at least true. At least she
hoped it was. The fact was, she was desperate. And,
frankly, beggars couldn’t be choosers. If the man could
cook even half decently, she was definitely interested in
him though not the way Sam was obviously hoping she would
be.
“Send him over,” she barked, and then slammed the phone
back in its cradle before she could change her mind.
Cale was telling Bricker and Mortimer about the wedding
he’d attended in New York for several of his family members
and their life mates when Sam came hurrying back into the
room. “It’s all set,” she announced excitedly. “You have to
go to her restaurant right away.”
Cale frowned. “You said you would have her come here.”
“Yes, well, there was a change of plans. Alex has a small
crisis at the restaurant and can’t leave,” Sam announced,
catching his arm and urging him toward the door to the
kitchen. “Actually that reminds me. Can you cook?”
Cale stopped, forcing her to a halt, and announced
stiffly, “I don’t eat.”
“I didn’t ask you if you eat,” she pointed out. “Can you
cook?”
“Why would I cook if I don’t eat?” he asked dryly.
“Not doing one doesn’t preclude your doing the other,” Sam
said impatiently, and then clucked with irritation and
tried to urge him to continue forward as she pointed
out, “Male designers don’t wear women’s clothing, but they
design it.”
“How do you know they don’t wear it?” Bricker asked
lightly, drawing Cale’s attention to the fact that he and
Mortimer had followed and now stood behind them.
Mortimer chuckled at the words, but Sam didn’t seem to see
the humor. Grinding her teeth together, she tugged at
Cale‘s arm again. “Come on. You need to get to the
restaurant before she changes her mind and takes off for
the new place or something.”
Cale tugged his arm free of her hold. “I do not cook food
and have no desire to visit a place filled with the stench
of it. You’ll just have to arrange a meeting for a
different day. I have no desire to go to her place of
business.”