Ante Up E-Book

Kim Fielding

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 271

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Love is a high-stakes game. A century and a half ago, Ante Novak died on a Croatian battlefield—and rose three days later as a vampire. Now he haunts Las Vegas, stealing blood and money from drunken gamblers and staying on the fringe of the powerful vampire organization known as the Shadows. His existence feels empty and meaningless until he meets beautiful Peter Gehrardi, who can influence others with his thoughts. An attraction flares instantly, bringing a semblance of life to Ante's dead heart. But the Shadows want Peter too, and they're willing to kill to get him. As Ante and Peter flee, they learn more about themselves and each other, and they discover that the world is a stranger place than either of them imagined. With enemies at their heels and old mistakes coming back to exact a price, how can Ante and Peter find sanctuary?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

About the Author

Coming in December 2017

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Copyright

Ante Up

By Kim Fielding

Love is a high-stakes game.

A century and a half ago, Ante Novak died on a Croatian battlefield—and rose three days later as a vampire. Now he haunts Las Vegas, stealing blood and money from drunken gamblers and staying on the fringe of the powerful vampire organization known as the Shadows. His existence feels empty and meaningless until he meets beautiful Peter Gehrardi, who can influence others with his thoughts.

An attraction flares instantly, bringing a semblance of life to Ante’s dead heart. But the Shadows want Peter too, and they’re willing to kill to get him. As Ante and Peter flee, they learn more about themselves and each other, and they discover that the world is a stranger place than either of them imagined. With enemies at their heels and old mistakes coming back to exact a price, how can Ante and Peter find sanctuary?

“You bit me. You have fucking fangs and you bit me and you drank my blood!”

“Just a bit. A few mouthfuls. Not enough to harm you.” The disclaimers sounded weak even to Ante’s ears.

“Fangs.”

Ante nodded, then shrugged. “Vampire.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to bite. I’m sorry. I usually have more control than that.”

“Vampire.”

“Yes.”

“For real.”

Ante lifted his upper lip to better reveal his fangs. “Real.”

“But that’s not—”

Before Peter could finish his sentence, Ante tasted Peter’s blood still lingering in his mouth and remembered his own revelation. “What are you?” he demanded.

“Wh-what do you mean? You’re the one with the fucking Dracula teeth!”

“Boli me kurac!” Ante roared and then, acknowledging the rare lapse into his native tongue, made an effort to calm himself. “I have fed from hundreds of humans. Thousands. I know what humans taste like. They don’t taste like you.”

Chapter One

CONFERENCE attendee, Ante Novak decided. Midthirties, a haircut that didn’t quite disguise the receding hairline, and a moderately priced off-the-rack suit. The guy had started the night at the poker tables with a couple of buddies, but after the buddies headed up to their rooms, the man had wandered over to play blackjack. It was a small-stakes table, which was lucky for the conference-goer because he was asking for another card when he should be standing.

Although Ante remained a good distance away, his sharp eyes saw no wedding band—and that the man was paying more attention to the cute male dealer than to the scantily clad waitresses. Good.

One of the waitresses, a pretty girl named Ellie, approached Ante. “Want something, honey?” she asked.

“Not tonight. Thank you.”

She followed his gaze toward the man at the table. “Good choice. He’s got a big wad of cash in his wallet and he’s totally sloshed.”

Ante pulled out a twenty he couldn’t really afford and handed it to her. “Thank you. Could you bring him one more, perhaps? Something strong?”

“Sure. You want me to tell him it’s from you?”

“Please.”

She winked and hurried off. Ante liked her. She worked hard, gave him a helping hand now and then, and wasn’t the type to suck up to the Shadows.

Ante ignored the casino’s blaring noises and flashing lights, keeping his attention focused on his prey. Within a few minutes, Ellie returned and handed the guy a highball glass of amber liquid. The two of them had a short conversation and she pointed at Ante, who leaned against a chair at an unoccupied table. The man’s eyebrows shot up—and then he grinned.

Ante smiled back.

The man quickly scooped up his chips and sauntered over, splashing a bit of booze from his glass as he walked.

“Hey,” he said as he drew close.

Ante cocked his hips slightly and pasted on his most smoldering look. “Hello.”

“Thanks for the drink.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Ooh! What kinda accent is that?”

In truth, Ante had been in the United States long enough to speak standard American English if he wanted to. But that took a little more mental effort, and besides, most potential prey found themselves captivated by a hint of exoticism. “I am from a town called Krapina.”

As Ante anticipated, the guy giggled. “Really? Is it a shitty place?”

“It is quite beautiful,” said Ante, pretending he hadn’t heard that stupid joke a thousand times.

The guy shrugged, which almost caused him to topple, but then he regained his balance. He tossed back the liquor in one gulp. “What country’s that in?” he asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Croatia.”

Forgetting he still held the empty glass, the man tried to rub the back of his head. When he bonked himself instead, he looked at the glass in confusion. Ante gently took it away and set it on the table. “Would you like to go somewhere more private?”

“Where’s Croashhha?” slurred the man, apparently still fixated on Ante’s origin.

“Between Slovenia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina.”

“Herznia?”

“Yes. Precisely.” Ante settled his palm on the back of the man’s neck. “Somewhere more private?” he repeated.

“Uh, yeah. Le’sh go,” he slurred.

On the way to the elevators, after cashing out the chips, Ante established that the prey’s name was Dan, he was a pension actuary from Minneapolis, and he thought Ante’s first name was hilarious. “Like in poker!” Dan chortled as they rose to the fifteenth floor.

“In Croatia my name is pronounced Ahn-tay. It is the equivalent of the English Anthony.” Ante was physically incapable of getting headaches, yet he imagined he could almost feel one pounding at his temples. If he hadn’t been hungry and almost broke, he would have pushed Dan out of the elevator on the fifteenth floor, ridden back down alone, and fled.

Instead Ante followed him down the long corridor, then waited as Dan fumbled for his key card. “’S it a Herznian name?” asked Dan.

“Yes.”

Technically, when he’d lived there, Krapina was part of the Kingdom of Croatia-Slovenia, which in turn was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But none of that would have meant anything to Dan even if he’d been sober. In fact, nowadays it meant nothing to anyone, aside from a few historians. Even the modern-day residents of Krapina probably gave the town’s history little thought.

Dan finally found the card but couldn’t manage to slide it properly through the scanner. Ante took it from him to get the door open. The room was indistinguishable from the endless parade of rooms where Ante had cornered his prey. At least Dan’s was tidy, with all his personal belongings tucked away. Some people treated their rooms like a garbage dump, which always made Ante wince in sympathy for the housekeeping staff.

“We could have s’more drinksh,” said Dan. “There’sh a bar, uh….” He spun around slowly, as if he expected to find someone serving up booze in his room. This time he did lose his balance, collapsing ungracefully facedown onto one of the beds.

Ante pounced.

He rolled Dan onto his back—legs hanging over the side of the bed—and draped himself over him. “What about this instead?” Ante purred before licking Dan’s neck.

Dan shuddered beneath him. “Yeah. Good. Shtay here.”

Ante hummed with contentment and licked him again. Warm, alive. And that lovely pulse thrumming just there. He sucked on Dan’s tender neck but didn’t break the skin, and Dan shuddered again. “Good,” Dan moaned.

“Can I suck you?” Ante whispered.

“Yeah. God, yeah, please.”

Flushed with alcohol, exhilaration, and desire, Dan’s skin radiated delicious heat. There was nothing like a live human body, especially here in the desert, where the sun baked everyone into a stupor. Of course Ante never stood beneath that sun; it had been well over a century since he’d felt its rays. But he could still revel in the warmth of a man’s body.

Ante slowly slid off Dan and onto the floor and settled onto his knees between Dan’s splayed legs. Dan said something unintelligible but vaguely encouraging as Ante unfastened Dan’s belt, then his button and fly. Pulling down the trousers and briefs took a bit of effort—Dan’s attempts to cooperate notwithstanding—but soon Ante had his groin bare. Despite Dan’s eagerness, he was only half-hard, probably due to the amount of booze sloshing around inside him. No matter.

Positioning himself carefully, Ante repeatedly licked the crease where leg met torso, then dropped his fangs and slipped them delicately into the soft flesh.

Dan moaned, but not with pain. When Ante worked carefully, his very sharp teeth caused only a little discomfort, and Dan was currently so anesthetized he’d have barely felt a machete. He gasped once or twice, mumbled something that might have been God, yes, and then went still. Within moments, he was snoring.

Ante licked slowly at the oozing blood.

It wasn’t the best meal he’d had. The alcohol content was fine—Ante was used to that—but Dan had recently eaten something garlicky. Contrary to myth, garlic wouldn’t scare Ante away, but it tended to overwhelm the iron and salt flavors he craved so desperately. Even so, Ante fed. He was hungry and didn’t want to bother finding more prey tonight.

It took very little to fill him—less than a pint, since he ate regularly. He licked at the tiny wounds until the bleeding stopped. Dan might wake up light-headed and dizzy, but that would be more from a hangover than blood loss. It was unlikely he’d notice the minuscule scabs in the crease of his leg. And if he did, he’d assume Ante had scraped him with his teeth before or after blowing him. He wouldn’t remember that he never actually got that blowjob, and he wouldn’t realize he’d provided dinner to a vampire.

They never did.

Moving carefully, Ante slipped the wallet out of Dan’s pants pocket. As Ellie had promised, it was stuffed with bills—over a thousand bucks. Either Dan had enjoyed a really good night at the tables before getting wasted, or he’d planned to gamble more than he’d managed to.

Ante took six hundred dollars.

It was a calculated decision—enough to get him through another week or two, but not enough for Dan to realize Ante had stolen from him. When Dan counted his stash, he’d assume he’d lost the six hundred while playing cards. The rest of his night would be a blur too, including the sex that never quite happened.

Ante moved Dan’s body until it was fully on the mattress, then covered him with the duvet from the other bed. Dan was still snoring. On a whim, Ante wrote on the little pad of paper on the nightstand: Dan, get your cholesterol checked. It’s too high.—A

Smiling and sated, he left Dan’s room.

Chapter Two

DURING the year that Dorothy Coughlin’s heart thumped its last, Elvis Presley and Doris Day topped the charts, Eisenhower beat Stevenson in the presidential election, and moviegoers flocked to The Ten Commandments. Ante had been in New York at the time, even though Vegas casinos were popular and members of the Shadows were already seated among the audiences at Sinatra’s and Martin’s shows, searching for prey. The Shadows hadn’t controlled much of the city back then—the Mafia had been the bigger player.

Many things had changed since 1956, but not the way Dorothy presented herself. She still wore dresses with tight bodices, tiny waists, and sweeping skirts. Sometimes she even added a hat and gloves. Tonight, though, she sat with Ante in the Vietnamese restaurant at the Rio, bareheaded, in a sleeveless blouse and bright capris.

“You have never been tempted to update your look?” Ante asked her.

“No. This works for me.”

“It does. But imagine if I were to wear my original costume.”

She laughed. “This is Vegas, darling. People would barely notice. Besides, I bet you looked gorgeous in frock coat and top hat.”

“I was a peasant, Dorothy. I did not own a frock coat.”

“What did you wear, then?”

“A long embroidered shirt,” he answered with a sigh, “and loose trousers.”

She scrutinized him sharply. “Did your wife embroider that shirt?”

“My mother. I had no wife.”

“Surely you didn’t sleep with men, not then and there!”

He shook his head and decided against lecturing her that homosexuality was not a twentieth-century invention. “You came here to discuss my ancient sex life?”

She fished some noodles from her bowl with a plastic fork and shoveled them into her mouth. Except for blood, Ante rarely ate—he didn’t need food and didn’t like the way it sat heavily in his stomach. Ugh. But Dorothy often consumed a few bites of something during their meetings. For the novelty, perhaps.

At the adjacent Rio Sports Book, a group of frat boys roared at something on the TV screens. Frat boys were easy marks. Even the ones who considered themselves straight became less picky about gender if it meant getting sucked off. They were frequently easy on the eyes too. But they didn’t generally carry much cash, so Ante preferred somewhat older and more pecunious prey.

“You lost your room at Circus Circus,” said Dorothy.

“I am bored with that place.”

“You’re broke. Again.”

He shrugged. “I will not be for long.”

“You’re going to corner one of them?” She pointed her fork at the college boys.

“I might.” Or perhaps he’d go somewhere with wealthier clients. Aria or the Wynn. Or the nearby Bellagio.

She huffed dismissively and pushed her bowl away, keeping the fork. She hadn’t quite adjusted to smoking restrictions, so she tended to keep something between her fingers. Sometimes she forgot herself and tucked the item into her mouth. Ante had joked about it in the past, telling her she had an oral fixation. But then, didn’t all vampires?

“Aren’t you tired of being a whore, Ante?”

“No.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Are you here to give me a morality lecture?”

“Hardly. Sleep with whoever you want. Steal from ’em too. I don’t care. My bosses don’t care either, as long as you’re low-key about it. But don’t you dream of anything better?”

He chuckled. “I do not. I told you, I was a peasant and then a soldier. You may be driven by post–World War Two Protestant fantasies of upward mobility, but I am not. As long as I am well fed and well fucked and have a comfortable, safe place to sleep, I am content.”

That was almost true.

“Content!” Dorothy scoffed. “You are an apex predator, darling. Like a lion.”

“Maybe. And what does a lion do after it has fed? It stretches out in a warm spot on the savannah and sleeps. It does not spend its spare time engaging in stupidly complex intrigues.”

“But lions do jostle for power, right? They fight over territory? That’s what we’re doing.” This time she not only pointed with the fork but also swept it for emphasis, like a conductor with a baton.

“This does not concern me.”

“But it could. It should. Look, Edie sent me here to recruit you, okay? Again.”

Ante set his jaw. “Edie” was Eadburg, one of the oldest vampires he’d met. She wasn’t at the very top of the Shadows’ hierarchy, but she was close to it. “Tell her no. Again.”

At the sports book, something exciting must have happened on the TVs, because the frat boys erupted in cheers. When Ante had been their age, he’d worked from dawn to dusk every day, helping his family wrench a meager living from their little farm. He’d gone to bed exhausted and sore, and if the harvest was poor, he often went to bed hungry as well.

Dorothy leaned over the table and tapped his arm with the fork tines. “You can choose a nice room in any of the casinos we run and never have to worry about where you’ll be when the sun rises. The pay’s good too. You can upgrade your wardrobe.” She made a face at his jeans and plain T-shirt, even though she would have agreed he looked good. “You can buy yourself a car, maybe. Live it up.”

“I died a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Then wrap yourself in a cape and brood when you’re off duty. Whatever floats your boat. But you won’t have to go skulking after college boys and plumbing-supply salesmen anymore. We’ll send you all the pretty boys you want. Room service.”

“It is all right to use whores but not be one?” he asked, brow arched.

“We’ve got humans for that, darling. Hundreds of ’em. And you don’t even have to get ’em plastered before you take a nibble, ’cause they all know the score.” She lowered her voice as she leaned forward. “We’re vampires. We’re social beings, not lone wolves. Join us, Ante. It’s safer.”

“Is that a threat?”

She sighed, which was overly theatrical considering she didn’t even need to breathe. “No, it’s just reality. It’s always better to be part of a team—and to have that team at your back when you need ’em. We’re not the only creatures who go bump in the night, you know?”

Ante knew that. But his last team effort had been soldiering, which had gotten him killed. His experiences at the end of his mortal existence had exposed him to more savagery and cruelty than anyone could bear. “I do not care for your team’s methods,” he said carefully.

Dorothy shrugged. “Apex predators, baby.”

Ante pressed his lips together.

“You know,” she said, “if you get in good with the bosses, they probably won’t mind if you find yourself… you know, someone special. And then you can—”

“No.”

“Didja ever sire another vamp, Ante?”

“Once.” He looked away.

The frat boys shouted again, and several exchanged sloppy hugs. One of them, a good-looking youth in a baseball cap, glanced Ante’s way and caught him staring. When the boy scowled, Ante faced Dorothy again. “I decline your offer of employment.”

“Yeah, okay.” She appeared disappointed but not surprised. “I told Edie you still wouldn’t go for it. But she’s gonna keep asking, right? And someday….”

“She will make me an offer I cannot refuse,” said Ante, who over the past decades had spent a great many daylight hours watching movies.

“Bingo. And if you want to stay here in town, you gotta freelance for us now and then.”

“As I have been.”

It wasn’t a common occurrence—two or three times a year usually. But Ante’s solitary ways made him useful to the Shadows. He knew his way around every casino in town, not just the ones the Shadows controlled. He kept his eyes and ears open, mostly for prey and his own self-defense, but that meant he saw and heard a great deal. Few of the Shadows’ enemies recognized him. Sometimes he was hired to watch when the Shadows had suspicions about a visitor’s intentions. Sometimes he passed a message or package to someone at a time and place where none of the Shadows wanted to be visible. And four times he’d killed someone for the Shadows. Well, technically all of his victims had been dead already—rogue Shadows members who’d been murdering humans instead of just snacking on them. Ante had felt little guilt over ending their existences. He’d done worse, once upon a time.

Now, he stood. “We are finished?”

“For tonight, sure.” Dorothy cocked her head. “Where are you gonna sleep in the morning?”

“I will find a place.”

She glanced over at the sports book. “That blond one in the Raiders jersey is cute. But me? I’ve got something better waiting for me at home. He’s a Chippendales dancer with a taste for the bite. Night, Ante.” She stood up and sauntered away on her impossibly high heels.

Ante did not go after the blond or any of his companions. Instead he wandered the casino floor for hours, watching the gamblers ebb and flow. There were more college students, couples of every age—from early twenties to doddering with walkers and oxygen tanks—bachelorette parties and stag parties, clusters of people celebrating birthdays, tourists from many countries, and more convention-goers. The smoke and bright lights of the casino stung his eyes, but still he remained, watching. Wondering what it would feel like to be that man over there, the one with his arm around the shoulders of his pregnant wife. Or the middle-aged woman who wore a lot of sparkly clothing, laughing with her similarly attired friends.

He couldn’t remember what it was like for his heart to beat, for the ground beneath his feet to feel like home.

For the first time in decades, he wondered what Krapina looked like now. Surely his family’s modest stone-and-plank structure had collapsed long ago, but the old churches might still stand. And in the autumn, perhaps the forests on the hillsides still glowed gold in the sunlight while grapes hung heavy in the vineyards. Was the cemetery still there, with generations of Novak bones going to dust? Did the inhabitants roast chestnuts when the weather turned cool and make blueberry brandy in the summer? Did mothers still scold children who ventured outside without sufficient layers of clothing? Did people dance to folk music and, at carnival time, burn the effigy of Fasnik?

Krapina would never again be home to him. He didn’t know anyone there, and his Croatian would undoubtedly sound weirdly antique. Who would he feed on? And where would he go when the sun rose?

As the hour grew increasingly late, the crowds thinned. But the casino never emptied entirely—one reason Vegas suited vampires well. Nobody who worked at the Rio or anywhere else cared if Ante simply hung around, so long as he wasn’t bothering anyone.

He watched people at the card tables and slot machines, and when he grew weary of that, he used almost the last of his money to buy a beer he didn’t want. He sat at a bar with the glass between his palms and thought about nothing at all.

Although it was impossible to see when morning began, the lack of windows in the heart of the casino was another benefit for vampires. Ante could feel sunrise like an itch between his shoulder blades. It brought a primal urge to hide somewhere dark and deep. He had nowhere to go, however, so he twitched his shoulders and watched the flickers of the sports book TV screens.

Later in the morning, he might sit in Starbucks pretending to drink coffee. And then maybe he’d see what was going on in the attached convention center or whether the on-site TV studio was filming something. He could usually sweet-talk himself into one of the free tickets.

And tonight? He’d likely end up with one of those frat boys—or someone like them.

Now, though, he walked past the reception desk to the main entrance. The area outside the doors was covered, which meant no direct sunlight could sneak indoors. But Ante stood for a few minutes and stared out, wondering if burning would feel good for a moment or two before becoming agony.

He turned on his heel and headed back to the Rio’s gaming floor.

Chapter Three

ANTE didn’t usually frequent the Lucky Chalet Casino, but his funds were growing thin again and the room rates were cheap. If he couldn’t score a wad of cash tonight, he could at least find someone to snack on and then book himself a room for a few days.

As the name suggested, the Lucky Chalet had started out with an Alpine theme, although Ante was never sure why its creators thought that was a good idea. In any case, the interior had been remodeled several times over the past few decades, and no traces remained of giant cuckoo clocks or Saint Bernard statues. The staff were no longer forced to wear lederhosen and dirndls. But despite the interior changes, the outside of the Chalet retained its original form. It squatted just off the Strip with faux wooden walls, faux balconies, and faux snow on the roof.

Since it wasn’t one of the Shadows’ properties, there were fewer watchful eyes. And because he hadn’t been there often, few of the employees would recognize him. Although he could prowl in peace, he wasn’t especially hungry. He’d fed two nights earlier from a sweet young man with a cheerful smile and a soft tummy. The man, whose name was Itsuki, was in town for a food expo. He’d been sober and had started a friendly chat with Ante at a casino bar. They’d ended up in Itsuki’s room for a round of pleasant but uninspired sex, and Ante had fed from him after Itsuki fell asleep. He didn’t steal anything but blood.

So when Ante entered the Lucky Chalet, he needed funds more than food. He wanted a quiet space where he could wash his clothing in a sink and read the book currently tucked into his back pocket. It was a spy thriller of some kind, a paperback he’d picked up at a casino gift shop. He couldn’t be picky about his reading material; Vegas wasn’t exactly a literary mecca.

Just inside the building, a small tableau almost made him laugh. A very pregnant woman in a wedding gown and a man in a dress shirt and Bermuda shorts stood next to each other, each tapping furiously at a phone. Ante couldn’t tell if they were mad at each other or at someone else, and he wondered whether the marriage ceremony had taken place yet and if the ceremony officiant was an Elvis impersonator. He hoped so. If people were going to get married in this city, they ought to make the best of it.

Grinning, Ante walked past the unhappy couple and toward the gaming floor. He bypassed the slot machines and headed for the card games instead. It was a bit past ten at night, and the tables were crowded. Fewer conventioneers visited the Chalet; its customers tended more toward twentysomethings taking a brief escape from Los Angeles. They weren’t poor by any means, but they were careful enough with their budgets that they used cash in Vegas instead of credit cards. That was perfect for his needs.

Nobody paid attention as he strolled the floor. He was good-looking, he’d been told, his body still carrying the hard muscles he’d earned through farm work when he was alive. But he was also skilled at remaining… not invisible, but unobtrusive when he wished. It was part of the package that came with being a vampire, along with excellent hearing and vision and extra strength and speed—the tools of an apex predator, Dorothy would have said. When he walked past people, their gazes tended to slide right past him. Unless, of course, he wanted to be noticed.

But none of the gamblers caught his interest. A lot of them were drunk, some were handsome, and there were many he could seduce if he tried. But since he was barely peckish, he could afford to be picky, and none of them felt exactly right. None were worth pursuing.

After hunting for well over an hour, he was ready to give it up. He’d get a room, wash his clothes, and spend a quiet night with his book. He could resume his hunt the following evening.

But just as he was turning toward the registration desk, someone caught his eye.

A man in his early twenties stood at one of the midstakes blackjack tables. He was strikingly beautiful, with spiky dark hair, tan skin, and delicate features. Ante could almost feel his fangs sinking into that pouty lower lip. Instead of the jeans and T-shirts favored by most of the men in the Chalet—including Ante—this man wore a charcoal gray suit tailored to show off his trim figure, along with a raspberry-hued silk shirt that would have looked garish on someone else.

It wasn’t the man’s attractiveness or attire that had captured Ante’s notice but rather his body language. When most people played blackjack, they kept their attention focused primarily on their cards. Their gazes might occasionally stray to their companions or the dealer’s cards, but mostly they looked right in front of them. This man, however, barely glanced at his own hand and instead seemed riveted by the dealer’s face.

That was odd enough. But the man’s face remained expressionless at the end of each hand. No disappointment when he lost and no happiness when he won. And the wins were frequent. Not every hand, but certainly more than the odds would predict.

After a time the man scooped up his winnings and walked off. Ante followed at a discreet distance, then stopped several tables away when the man sat down to play small-ante Texas Hold ’Em. The man focused on his competitors’ faces as he played—although that was more common in poker. And again he was uncommonly lucky, leaving the table a few hundred dollars ahead only an hour later.

Ante tailed him as he cashed in his winnings.

With a purposeful stride, the man marched to the elevators, got into a car, and headed upstairs.

Probably on his way to meet his girlfriend, Ante thought. Or maybe just jerk off to pay-per-view porn. Ante felt a bizarre pang of loss at the man’s departure, but dismissed it as frustration over his curiosity remaining unsatisfied.

Ante turned and headed for the registration desk, intent on booking a room at last.

THE hotel clerk hadn’t batted an eye when Ante asked for a north-facing room. They never did. Dorothy mentioned once that it wasn’t an uncommon request even among humans, many of whom didn’t want the desert sun blazing through their windows after a night of gambling and drinking. In any case, when Ante woke up in the middle of the afternoon, he safely stood naked in front of the glass, gazing out at the High Roller. He’d never ridden the popular Ferris wheel, mostly because small enclosed spaces unnerved him.

He didn’t mind heights, however, and he enjoyed the view from his room. He wondered if the Croatian nobility had felt like this as they surveyed their domain from hilltop castles. Not that Vegas belonged to him, but he was comfortable here.

After a while he ambled into the bathroom to check the clothes hanging in the shower, but they were still slightly damp. He didn’t own a second set, so getting dressed would have to wait. No matter. He could finish the spy novel or watch some TV.

But when he tried to settle on the bed with his book, and later as he clicked through the television channels, his mind kept wandering. He wasn’t distracted by anything in particular, just wispy memories of people long dead and places he’d nearly forgotten. Some of the memories were violent and bloody, some almost tender, but most were… mundane. The feeling of snow falling onto his upturned face. Watching smoke rise from chimneys. Sharing a brief chat with an old lady who sold flowers in Krapina’s main square.

Dammit, why was he so melancholy lately? Maybe he’d simply grown too old. Perhaps the final vestiges of his humanity were slipping away, and soon he’d be coldly vicious like Eadburg. The idea made him shudder.

“I will destroy myself first,” he promised aloud. Nothing in the bland hotel room responded.

Ante dressed and went downstairs before darkness fell, wandering the casino for an hour or two as he scouted out potential prey. He eventually spied a pair of men in their late forties, handsome and trim and with matching gold wedding rings. Ante watched them for a time, and when he took a seat nearby, they exchanged a quick look with each other before smiling at him. Soon he’d joined them at their table.

“It’s our anniversary,” explained the shorter one, whose name was Tim. “Our second or our fifteenth, depending.”

“Depending on what?” Ante asked.

“On how you count it. We had a commitment ceremony fifteen years ago, but we didn’t get legally hitched until the Supreme Court paved the way.”

His husband, Juan, grabbed his hand. “I finally made an honest man of him.”