Slayers Give Happy Endings
Page 10
I tried pulling my mouth into a skeptical frown and failed spectacularly. “Eleven months is fast?”
He smiled, that ridiculous one I’d claimed as my own. “When you live for an eternity, yes.”
Wow, I couldn’t get over how good that sounded, especially when it would be with my three loves. I could hardly wait.
Chapter Ten
It went on like that for days. Weeks. Who the hell knew and who the hell cared? My vampires would bring me blood like a vampire queen and then fuck me, sometimes one at a time, sometimes two, or sometimes all three at once. Listen, we had a lot of catching up to do, okay?
Besides, I needed to grow accustomed to my new vampire self without a mashed potato brain, needed to heal myself mentally, though physically I was fine. Better than fine with all the love, sexual healing, and attention my vamps showered me with. There were days I never even got out of bed. I had no reason to, because the built-in need to do my daily slayer duty, complete with gut cramps and itchy feet, was gone. Between all the sex, we would talk for hours about everything, including if I missed the power and the responsibility. The truth was a lot harder to answer with a simple yes or no.
“I was good at being the slayer,” I’d said.
“Damn good,” Jacek agreed.
Eddie nodded. “The best in all of history because you’re sitting here right now.”
“It was a huge part of who you were,” Sawyer said.
Bigger than I’d thought, which was really saying something.
So, on a miserable, blustery night in late December, I closed the front door of my vamps’ house. Yep, I actually closed it. Every door in Podunk City now worked as it should without any lake water about to drip a dead slayer from the frame. Finally, it appeared as though doors were behaving themselves once again.
Cleo sniffed the sidewalk in front of me on the way to the graveyard, zigzagging from one side to the other, while her tail wagged excitedly. The Powerpuff Girls on my T-shirt stared out with their big eyes from behind my open leather jacket. Nope, still hadn’t outgrown that. Like the slayer, cartoons were a part of who I was, and I refused to conform to society’s idea of what a twenty-one-year-old vampire/fae/pirate thought I should be and how many vampires I slept with at once. Society was a basic bitch.
Anyway, I had a stake speared through my bun on top of my head, another in the inside pocket of my jacket, and another in my boot, like always, though I didn’t intend to use them. But for the first time in a long time, I left my Kevlar vest at home. Even without it, I looked the part. More importantly, I felt the part, whether I had the slayer power or not.
I pulled the cemetery gate key from my pocket with a hand no longer marked KEY and unlocked the gate. Cleo flashed through first, nearly knocking me over in the process, so she could scope everything out.
“Geez, girl. Take a breath. It’s okay.”
And it was. The cemetery no longer had Paul’s darkness creeping over the ground or the weight of him hanging in the air. It looked and felt perfect actually, for a cemetery at least, with the promise of snow breezing through the treetops. One of those trees tapped its branches on a newly constructed mausoleum near the back of the graveyard with Appelt carved in block letters across the top of the door.
About twenty feet away from it, standing in front of my mom’s grave, was Detective Appelt himself. He looked sad as he stared down at Mom’s tombstone, seemingly unaware that Cleo was bounding right toward him. Seeing him like that stalled my steps, a great wave of sorrow crashing over me. Not just for Mom but for him and what he’d lost. He’d loved her. That was obvious. I imagined he still did.
He turned and saw Cleo coming, and then flicked his orange-yellow eyes to me with a wide smile. The ends of his plaid scarf hanging over his tan trench coat whipped in the wind, and his blond hair shone in the wintery starlight.
I waved, feeling like a robot. I’d always been such an awkward waver.
He knelt to greet Cleo, who licked him and whacked him with her tail, as one does when they’re best friends with everyone. I forced myself to move toward them, to keep an open mind, to listen to what the detective had to say and try not to pass judgement. To trust him like he’d told me to. As long as he trusted me too.
“Hey, Belle,” he said as I stepped up next to him. He gave Cleo one final pat on the head and stood.
“Hey.” I gazed down at Mom’s grave with him, something I never allowed myself to do during patrols. She was too much of a painful distraction, but it was somewhat less so with my dad here. “What do you think she would say if she knew her daughter was now a vampire?”
“Probably...probably damn, I’m proud of that vampire,” he said, his voice rough.
I nodded, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye and see if he felt the same way. Give me a god to kill and dead slayers to fight, sure, I could do that. But have a heart-to-heart with my dad whom I’d only just met, well...one turtle-speed step at a time. We had a lot. Time, that is. Not turtles. We’d get to it eventually.
“So, vampires,” I finally said. “You’re keeping newborns at the Senate mansion. How’s that going?”
He nodded. “I release about one a day when they’re no longer feral.”
“Not like that one then.” I pointed over his shoulder to where a vampire was sneaking through the bars of the fence around the graveyard.
He looked and then chuckled. “No, not like that one. Would you like to do the honors?”
“Sure...” This would require some major brain retraining, but I couldn’t just go around killing my own kind. This way was more humane, like catch and release. I probably should’ve thought about doing this a long time ago, but I’d been the slayer then, a different person than I was now. The only newborn vamp I’d never killed was my own dad.
“I’ll take them to the mansion when you’re done,” he said and handed me a pair of gloves like his, which I put on, and then a silver rope from his coat pocket. “Or you can. The devil redecorated a bit even though he doesn’t come around as much anymore. There’s a large painting of you in the main hall...in a wedding dress.”
I threw back my head and laughed. “Oh, that I’ve got to see.”
“Ready?” My dad shot me a smile that looked a hell of a lot like my own.
“Let’s go kick a little vampire ass. Gently. With a rope.”
And we did, together.
Now read the rest of the series!
Some Swans Don’t Swim
About the Author
Holly Ryan is a pen name for a USA Today bestselling author who one day said, “Screw it. I’m gonna write books with some serious sizzle.” She’s fueled by wine, which is where the idea probably came from.
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Devils Are Prickly Bastards
Slayers Give Happy Endings
Some Swans Don't Swim
Standalone
The Slayer's Reverse Harem: The Complete Series
A Touch of Dragon Fire: The Complete Series