This was Dave Harrington, Vincent assumed, based on Lana’s description of both the man and his disposition. He was an inch or two shorter than Vincent, but bulky with muscle, and probably used to intimidating people with his size alone.
Only Vincent wasn’t intimidated, and Dave Harrington knew it.
“You were saying?” Vincent asked mildly, hoping the fool would persist in insulting Lana, thus giving Vincent a reason to pound the asshole into the ground.
“Who the fuck are you?” Harrington demanded.
Lana stepped around him and took up a position next to Vincent, a significant move that was not lost on Harrington if his gaping glance at Lana was any indication.
“I believe that’s my question,” Vincent answered, “since this is my . . . that is, our room that you’ve so rudely barged into.”
Harrington looked to Lana, clearly expecting her to do something. Introduce him, maybe? Declare her undying love?
But then Lana’s robe shifted, and Harrington got a look at her neck where Vincent had so recently bitten her. There wasn’t much in the way of a mark, but it was enough, given what the man obviously already knew, that he drew the right conclusion.
But then he made the wrong move.
“You’re fucking a vampire?” Harrington demanded and reached for Lana, though whether to push the robe aside for a better look or to grab her, Vincent didn’t know. And he didn’t care.
Moving faster than the human could follow, he snagged the man’s wrist before his hand could touch Lana, then stepped into his space, stopping a hair’s-breadth from the human’s chest.
“Don’t touch her,” Vincent snarled. “And you will keep a civil tongue in your head, or I’ll rip it out and shove it down your throat.”
“Vincent,” Lana said quietly.
He waited just long enough for the human to realize he was helpless against Vincent’s greater strength, then let go, shoving the man a step backward away from Lana.
Draping a blatantly possessive arm around Lana’s shoulders, he touched his head to hers in a way that shouted intimacy and asked, “Who is this clown?” Even though he already knew.
Harrington glared daggers at him. “I’m her fiancé, asshole. Who’re you?”
Lana snorted in disgust, but tellingly made no attempt to dislodge Vincent’s arm. “You are not my fiancé, Dave. We have never been engaged.”
“As for who I am,” Vincent interjected. “I’m the one fu—”
Lana turned her head slowly and stared, as if daring him to finish that sentence.
Vincent grinned and finished, saying, “—following Lana around the country. Keeping her safe . . . among other things.”
“Vincent,” Lana chided softly, turning to touch his jaw with her fingers, fighting a smile that she probably didn’t want him to see. She turned back to Harrington.
“I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Dave. But this isn’t your business, or my father’s. I appreciate your concern, but as you can see, I’m perfectly safe. Now, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Harrington, who was either clueless or had a major case of denial, stared at Lana in disbelief. “You’re choosing a vampire over us?”
“There is no us,” Lana shouted, having finally reached her limit with the asshole. “Will you please get that through your head! We dated! A long time ago! Get over it!”
“Lana—”
“No. Damn it!” Calm Lana had disappeared for good. “Go home,” she snarled just as viciously as any vampire could. “And tell my father to stop butting into my business. I’m on vacation. Now, leave me the fuck alone!”
Harrington finally seemed to clue in. “Fine,” he snapped. “It’s your funeral.” He stormed over and yanked the door open, pausing for one last volley. “Or maybe your dad’s, since this will break his fucking heart.”
Lana rolled her eyes at that last bit of drama, but didn’t say anything until the door slammed shut on his useless ass.
“As if,” she muttered. “Sean Arnold will outlive us all just to prove he can.”
Vincent slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her back against his chest, leaning over to rub his cheek against hers. “You okay?”