He shook away the memory of her voice as he unloaded the pockets of his coat. He adjusted his watch and caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. Slave, it said. Whenever he needed a reminder of how much he hated Han, he only had to look at the damned mark.
“Why, you bastard?” Russell muttered. Why had Han picked him? And why leave him in a coma for thirty-nine years?
With a sigh, Russell wandered over to the bookcase to plug the sat phone in to recharge it. Life had improved since he’d acquired the new solar-powered generator. The wires from the generator ran through the thin ceiling and up the nearby massive tree to the panels he’d installed on top of the oak tree’s sturdy branches. He popped a bottle of synthetic blood into his new microwave, then levitated to hang up his crossbow and quiver.
His gaze returned to that spot. Don’t think about her. He dropped to the ground, retrieved the warm bottle from the microwave, and paced about the cave as he drank.
He would do some laundry. That would keep him busy. He set his bottle on the table, then grabbed a bucket and went to the river to fill it up. There he spotted the imprint in the sand from where she’d stepped into the river and back onto the shore. There had been a cat woman in his bat cave. The thought made him smile.
What the hell was he doing, grinning like an idiot? He tossed the bucket down and strode away. “She’s not my problem.”
He dragged a stool up to the table and went to work cleaning his handguns. The ritual was always the same, and it relaxed him, helped him focus. Not my problem, he repeated to himself as he went through the motions.
He had only one problem. Killing Han. And what then? His gaze slid back to where Jia had stood the night before. Not my problem. But didn’t she have the same problem he did? Would it hurt to keep her informed? What if he went to Tiger Town to give her an update?
With an abrupt move, he stood, knocking over his stool. He paced about the cave, but it seemed like the walls were closing in on him. He finished his bottle of blood, then checked on his stash of synthetic blood. One ice chest was empty; the other still had six bottles. The ice had melted, leaving a pool of water.
Good. Something to do. He threw on his coat and leather gloves, grabbed a knife and two buckets, then teleported to the edge of a glacier in the Himalayas. As a Vamp, he could tolerate cold better than most mortals could, but even so, the instant change to subzero temperatures was like slamming into a brick wall. He went to work at vampire speed, and within a few seconds, he’d chipped off enough ice to fill his buckets.
Back in his cave, he emptied the ice into the second ice chest and pulled out the stopper so the melted ice could drain into a bucket. This was the water he used for brushing his teeth. Sometimes he warmed it up to use for his shower.
As he pulled off his gloves, he checked his watch. Five hours had passed since he’d awakened. Five hours that he’d not talked to another living soul. Since when did that ever bother you? His gaze shifted back to Jia’s spot. Damn her for making his solitude seem so . . . solitary.
The sun would have set at Zoltan Czakvar’s castle in Transylvania. Even though Russell had enough blood to last a few more days, it wouldn’t hurt to have more. He loaded his empty bottles into the first ice chest, dropped the fully charged sat phone into his coat pocket, then grabbed the ice chest and his quiver and teleported to Zoltan’s castle.
The second he landed in the armory, an alarm went off, the pitch designed so that only vampires and shifters could hear it. Thanks to Zoltan’s head of security, Howard Barr, the castle now boasted the best in high-tech security. Ironic, Russell thought, since he wasn’t sure Zoltan needed security anymore.
After eight hundred years of being a vampire, Zoltan had accidentally re-mortalized himself two months ago by drinking too much of the Living Water from the hidden valley of Beyul-La. As far as Russell could tell, Zoltan was taking the change fairly well. He was so damned happy with his new wife, newly adopted son, and baby on the way that he constantly had a dopey grin on his face.
Russell stifled a groan. He wasn’t going to begrudge Zoltan his newfound joy. After eight hundred years, the guy deserved a break. And he’d always been a good friend. He’d been the one to help Russell adjust to being undead. He’d taught him how to use his new skills, and after Russell had gone AWOL, Zoltan had generously allowed him to take whatever supplies he’d needed from the castle without reporting him to Russell’s old boss, Angus MacKay.
It was different now that Howard Barr was at the castle. The Kodiak bear shifter worked for Angus, so everything Russell did or said on these premises was reported.
Russell set the ice chest and quiver on the table. When the alarm abruptly stopped, he glanced up at the newly installed camera. No doubt Howard knew exactly where he was. Any second now, the nosy were-bear would come charging down the spiral staircase to butt into his life and ask him a million questions.
With vampire speed, Russell filled his coat pockets with ammo. Then he set the box of arrows on the table and pried off the lid.
Footsteps pounded down the spiral staircase. “Russell.” Howard ducked to keep from knocking his head on the low stone archway.
“Howard.” Russell grabbed a handful of arrows and stuffed them into the quiver.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Howard said as he approached. “You usually wait two full weeks before returning.”
Russell shrugged and added more arrows to his quiver.
Howard planted his hands on the table, leaning toward him. “I heard you saw the dragon shifter, Xiao Fang, last night.”