Ildaria’s mouth twisted at that and then she looked away and sighed. “I usually did wait. I always tried to. But there were three, maybe four times when one or the other of the idiot mortals managed to corner and try to rape either myself or one of the other women.” Her mouth firmed with anger at the memory, and she confessed, “Those ones I fed on early and in the most unpleasant way I could think of.”
G.G. didn’t comment at once, and after a moment she huffed out a breath, letting go of her anger as she said, “Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave the memory with them so it was really a stupid, useless thing to do that taught them nothing and endangered both myself, and Vasco, who didn’t deserve that kind of trouble.”
“Then why did you do it?” G.G. asked reasonably.
Ildaria hesitated and then shrugged unhappily. “I couldn’t help myself. I just . . . I really hate men who think they can just take what they want and rape a woman.”
Ildaria turned her gaze back to her drink then, staring at it grimly and refusing to meet his gaze after that admission. When he remained silent, seeming to be waiting, she added, “That’s why I decided to leave Punta Cana. So I wouldn’t make trouble for Vasco and the others anymore.”
“And you moved to Montana,” G.G. put in.
Ildaria nodded. “Jess invited me to stay with her while I figured out what I wanted to do. She’s the one who suggested I get a degree at college or university.”
When she stopped talking again, G.G. said, “And you chose accounting at university, but then your friend was raped.”
“Yeah.” She breathed the word unhappily. “I didn’t have enough experience to wipe her memories, but I did what I could to blur them for her. Soften them so she wasn’t so terrified and traumatized.”
“And then you went vigilante,” G.G. suggested, bringing her gaze sharply to his. Smiling at her expression, he shrugged. “Like I said, the Night Club is gossip central. I did hear a little of why you are now in Canada and being watched like a hawk by Lucian and the boys.”
Ildaria grimaced, and took a sip of her drink, but then nodded. “Yeah. Well, when I read her mother’s mind, I saw that they’d learned that Alicia wasn’t the first victim of this rapist. They suspected the same man was responsible for at least three other attacks. There was a serial rapist on campus, but they weren’t advertising it because they didn’t want the female students to panic, and risk female enrollment dropping,” she said bitterly. Angry that the school would choose profit over concern for its female students. “So, I donned leathers and started going out at night looking for the bastard.”
“Leathers?” G.G. asked, distracting her from her anger.
She blinked at him and then shrugged. “Injuries mean a need for more blood, and while I was working full time as a waitress, making great tips, and my rent with Jess was ridiculously low, university is expensive. I couldn’t afford a lot of extra blood,” she explained. “Short of a Kevlar bodysuit or something, leather is the best thing you can wear to avoid or reduce injury. So I bought black leather pants, a black leather jacket and whatnot, put my hair in a ponytail or bun to prevent it being used against me and went out looking for him.”
“Did you get him?” G.G. asked when she fell silent.
Ildaria shook her head slowly. “No. But I got a lot of other assholes up to no good.” A small smile played around her lips as she recalled the people she’d helped and the criminals she’d dumped in the hands of local mortal law enforcement. But after a moment, she sighed, and added, “Unfortunately, there are a lot of fricking people out there with cell phones happy to film anything and everything everybody is doing. I got caught on film once or twice, which was bad enough. But then one of the people I rescued was an FBI agent . . . and didn’t that just make them hot to catch me?” She rolled her eyes, thinking that was gratitude for you, and then said irritably, “Which, of course, caught the attention of the North American Council.”
“Ah,” G.G. murmured, picking up his own drink, but merely holding it as he said, “Which is how you ended up here in Toronto under Lucian’s eagle eye.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “In truth, I was lucky. He could have had me executed. I was drawing attention that could have led to the discovery of our kind, and that’s a no-no with every Council so . . .” She breathed out unhappily. “I just wish I’d caught the bastard who attacked Alicia before Lucian caught on and came to Montana to shut me down.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his expression thoughtful, and then he asked, “And what happened here?”
Ildaria turned to him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why did Lucian make you drop your night courses and switch to days?” he asked almost gently in that deep bass rumble of his. “Were you donning your leathers and—”
“No,” she assured him quickly. “Nothing like that. I do learn from my mistakes.”
He waited. Silent.
Ildaria could have refused to explain. It wasn’t really any of his business. But she found she wanted to. She didn’t want him to think she’d run off half-cocked and repeated her error. “I didn’t go looking for trouble this time. But a lot of bad stuff happens at night on campus, and I can’t just ignore someone’s screams for help. So . . .” She grimaced and admitted, “There have been three instances since starting my night courses here in Toronto where I’ve stumbled across someone in trouble and tried to help.”
She noted his wince at this news, and sighed inwardly, completely understanding it, but not sorry she’d helped. Pushing his reaction away in her mind, she continued, “One of those instances where I helped was apparently caught on camera.”
“Crap,” G.G. breathed.
Ildaria nodded, completely agreeing with that assessment of the situation. It was crap. “So, Lucian has decided that Vasco was right and I’m a trouble magnet. That being the case, Lucian has decided the best way to keep me out of trouble is to make me switch from night classes to day classes when there is less crime on campus for me to happen upon on my way to and from class.”
They were both silent for a minute, and then G.G. pushed his plate away and turned to face her. Ildaria waited warily, unsure what to make of the thoughtful way he was eyeing her, but then he said, “Marguerite said you were taking accounting at uni.”
Surprise sent her eyebrows upward, but she nodded. “I major in accounting, minor in business.”
G.G. nodded slowly and then said thoughtfully, “And my dog likes you.”
Ildaria tilted her head, trying to sort that one out. She wasn’t at all certain what one thing had to do with the other.
And then he said, “Would you like a job?”
Ildaria stilled, startled by the question, but after considering his comment about his dog liking her, asked, “Dog sitting?”
G.G. nodded. “And doing the books for the Night Club.” When her eyes widened in surprise, he added, “I’ll pay you for both. An accountant’s full wages, plus an extra twenty dollars an hour for looking after H.D. while you do.”
Her mouth dropped open at that offer, excitement building within her at the thought of being paid for two jobs in one, but then she frowned and pointed out, “Wait. You already have a dog sitter. They just didn’t come in today for some reason.”
“I had a dog sitter,” G.G. said dryly, and explained, “She quit yesterday after H.D. bit her. Walked out in the middle of the night without telling me and left him alone to eat holes in my clothes and chew the hell out of one of my running shoes.”
“Oh.” Ildaria blinked, wondering what clothes the little fur ball had chewed holes in.
“And I’ve been looking for a bookkeeper since I bought this place . . .” G.G. shook his head with irritation. “The fact that I can’t hire a mortal has made it impossible to find anyone.”
Ildaria completely understood why he couldn’t hire mortals. This club was for immortals. It served blood-based drinks, not alcohol. The accounts payable would be to various places but would include Argeneau blood banks. The drinks made were variations of blood, sometimes just different blood types: A+, A-, B+, B-, etc. Sometimes customers wanted specialized blood like that of people who were high on various drugs, or the sweet blood Marguerite had asked her to pick up on the way back from university. Sweet blood came from untreated diabetics and had a high sugar content. A rare blend to find since when the blood was tested on donation, the donor was advised that they were diabetic and should seek medical attention, reducing the donor base.
Sometimes, though, the blood was mixed with things to make it more interesting. Here a Bloody Mary was a true Bloody Mary, made with the standard Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, lemon juice, lime juice, black pepper as well as celery and a lemon wedge for garnish. But there was no tomato juice or vodka in the Bloody Marys here. That was replaced with blood.
Actually, she thought now, G.G. would have trouble explaining having blood banks on the accounts payable list to the tax people too and she supposed he had to cover with switching names out from blood banks for alcohol distributors. He probably had to keep two sets of books, she decided. An immortal was really the only way he could go when it came to hiring a bookkeeper. She didn’t know a lot of accountant immortals. Ildaria was sure there must be some out there, but considering the small pool to search from . . . well, finding a bookkeeper would be impossible.
“So?” G.G. prompted when she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. “Want a job? Or two jobs, I should say.”
“Si,” Ildaria said at once, feeling a lot of her stressors drop away like ashes crumbling in a fire. He was going to pay her for both watching H.D. and doing the books. It was like two full-time jobs in one. Her money troubles just went out the door. She’d be able to pay for the fall semester, get her own apartment, and maybe even buy furniture for it if she was careful. Damn. Things were looking up.