"Hmmm," she said. "Anything you want to share on why you're able to kill Dragons when very few others can?"
"Um… nope," I said with certainty.
"Of course not," she muttered with annoyance. "Anything else?"
"Let me synopsize… do not kill the Vamps or the Cows. Dwayne will be furious if any of them die—well, maybe not the Vamps, but don't kill them. The Cows are sacred. Pretend we're in India. There are feral Wolves hanging out on the perimeter of the property and apparently some Dragons skulking around."
"That would be because of the Wolves," Dima guessed.
"Are they on the same team?" I asked.
"Nope. From what I understand the feral Wolves hate the Dragons and visa versa."
"Now there's an understatement," Hank said sarcastically.
"Meaning?" Dima asked.
"Meaning we had an unexplainable run in with the feral Wolves and Dragons and it wasn't exactly pleasant," I said.
"You lived through it?"
It was obvious by her tone that Dima was astounded by the news.
"Duh," I said with an eye roll. "Sitting in the car with you… which would lead me to deduce we're alive."
"You're an ass," Dima snapped.
"Occasionally," I agreed. "Tell me another secret."
Dima sat and deliberated what to tell me. I never should have let her eat the damn paper. I was driven by my juvenile need to tell her she'd eaten poop. What if she overlooked something important—or life threatening?
"There were dossiers," she said and then sat quietly.
"Cryptic much?" I huffed. "Who were the dossiers on?"
This was going to be a long car ride if we played the game like this. The only thing I had on her was helping with offing her dad.
"You, me, your grandmother, Hank, Dwayne and two who I assume are your parents."
"Assuming is dangerous…" Why in hell was Angela looking at my parent's dossiers?
"Annie and John McGee?"
I was silent. Those were my parent's names. Annie and John—the beautiful Annie and the handsome John. My dead parents.
Hank took my hand in his and squeezed. My emotions were riotous where my parents were concerned. Ever since I had learned their death had not been an accident it was hard to think about them without getting a feeling of panic. Granny had kept the truth from me and I honestly wished she hadn't.
"Okay," I said softly. "Go back to the feral Wolves being housed and trained by the Dragons. What else do you know about them?"
I needed to move on and get focused on what was going to be in front of me in the very near future.
"Are Annie and John your parents?" Dima asked.
I nodded and leveled her with a stare. She met it and gave me a small sad smile of condolence.
"Feral Wolves?" I reminded her, not wanting her sympathy.
I didn't know what to do with her sympathy because I didn't even know what to do with my own feelings about my parents.
"I don't know much about the Wolves directly," she said in a business-like tone. "I've lived on the fringes of my people for quite some time now so I could stay alive. That's neither here nor there," she said with a sigh I felt deep in my gut. "The Dragons often take over failed projects of other species… for money."
"Keep going," Hank said through clenched teeth.
"I'm guessing the Wolves were an experiment from within your own circles that went wrong," she said with a shrug.
"We did this to our own people?" I hissed. "We prohibited their shift back to human and left them stuck as animals? What kind of horrific experiment is that?"
"Can’t answer," Dima said. "Sounds like it might have been a punishment of sorts. There are about thirty feral wolves under my father's rule."
I mulled the information over and tried to stop myself from shredding the interior of the car. I was furious anyone could be so vile and inhumane. What the hell was wrong with people—my people?
"Were," I corrected her. "There are now twenty-three."
"Oh my God," Dima whispered. "You killed feral Wolves?"
"Um… yes. It was them or us at the time. I'm getting married in a few months and in no mood to die." I turned to Hank and made a momentous decision. "This clusterhump has given me the confidence to tell your mom I'm not wearing her poofy wedding dress."
"Really?" he asked, abject fear clearly written on his gorgeous face.
"Well, um… maybe not," I whispered.
The car was quiet as we all pondered if it was worth it to die over a wedding dress. A large part of me felt it was very worth it.
"Is it really heinous?" Dima asked with a half suppressed grin.
"From what I understand it's huge with a train and poofy sleeves," I said as I bent over in pain thinking about it.
"I'm so sorry," Dima said. "I hurt for you."
"Thank you. I plan to beat the shit out of whoever takes a picture of me in the dress."
"Could you stage a separate set of pictures with just you and Hank in a different dress?" she suggested.
"Like how?" I asked, intrigued.
"It's risky, especially if you want to display it. You'll have to remember to remove the picture any time Hank's mother is going to visit," Dima recommended.
"Sounds dangerous," Hank said with a shudder. "And potentially bloody or life ending."
"He's right," I said dejectedly. "She'll remove body parts if I don't wear the damn thing. It's all Dwayne's fault. He'll be in some fabulous bridesmaid gown while I'll be the billowy, inflated white poofy thing from hell."
"Dwayne's a guy, right?" Dima asked, a little confused.
"Yes. Drag queen," I explained. "He's my man of honor and really wants to wear a dress."
"Make him wear Hank's mom's dress," she suggested.
The car went silent. My eyes grew wide and I almost screamed with joy.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," I babbled and punched Hank in the shoulder. "Your mom likes Dwayne way better than she likes me… maybe she would be thrilled for Dwayne to wear her gown."
"Essie, I am so staying out of this," he said with a healthy fear of all women in his eyes.
"Probably smart," Dima chimed in. "Do you think she would go for it?"
"If Dwayne suggested it she would. She thinks he's the Second Coming," I said.
"Jesus Hesus number two?" Dima inquired with a silly grin.
"Yes," I said with a laugh. "Definitely Jesus Hesus number two."
With a hearty high five and a fit of giggles, Dima and I sat back in relief. Her being truly concerned that I didn't look like the Pillsbury Dough girl on my wedding day made me like her even more. It would be a challenge to get Dwayne to wear the fugly dress, but he loved me and I planned to beg… and beg… and beg… and beg.
"Are we there yet?" I asked an amused Hank.
"Are you serious?" he shot back with a raised brow.
"Yep."
Hank shook his head and chuckled. "In a half hour we'll be there."
"Half hour more of death-free existence," I said as I turned up the radio. "You like the Clash?" I asked Dima.
"Yes, I do. I also like AC/DC, Johnny Cash and Maroon 5," she added.
"You are my kind of girl," I said with a grin. "My kind of girl."
Chapter 19
"While the concept is interesting, the implementation is horrifying," Dwayne said as he mulled my proposition over and shuddered at the thought. "Dima, I am going to assume this was your suggestion."
"Um, well, I…you know… " Dima stuttered.
"While my Essie is quite brilliant, it would take a mind both devious and intellectual to come up with it," Dwayne explained to a very nervous Dragon.
Clearly she remembered Dwayne was a skilled mind melder and enjoyed blowing up Dragons.
"Wait," I cut in, a little put out. "Are you saying she's smarter than me?"
"I'd suggest zipping it, Ester," Dwayne advised as he bit back a smirk. "You might be winning at the moment."
I zipped it a
nd gave Dima a nudge to continue.
"Well, I just thought since Essie was so incredibly devastated at having to wear a dress that wasn't the one of her dreams on her special day—a day which will only happen once in her lifetime—that you might find it in your heart to help a girl out. I heard you were wanting to wear a dress, which is delightfully brave and sexy. Soooo… I thought you could save Essie from a massive tantrum and the crying fit which would go hand in hand with her wearing Hank's mom's dress."
"You forgot the words butt-ass fugly," Dwayne said with a raised brow which would have reached his hairline if he’d had hair. "And you should have said dead heart since I'm a Vampyre and therefore technically dead."
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"No problemo," Dwayne assured her. "It was an impassioned plea. I'm quite impressed and slightly grossed out at the thought of wearing a poofy dress. With my pecs I should be in a strapless sheath, but I shall take it under consideration. I'm fairly sure with the right heels I could pull off pretty much anything. However, it would go a long way toward convincing me if I knew I was going to perform Lady Gaga in full drag at the reception."
"Done," I shouted as Hank winced and shook his head helplessly.
"Can I throw in a Cher and a Dolly Parton set?" Dwayne negotiated shrewdly.
I thought about it for only a brief second. He could have said he wanted to perform Miley Cyrus naked with a wrecking ball hanging from the ceiling and I would have said yes. Anything was fine so as long as I didn't have to wear the puffed out dress from hell.
"Deal. Shake on it," I demanded. "In front of witnesses."
"I have got to score an invite to this wedding," Dima said as she took in the grand decor of the Great Room of another of Dwayne's homes. She walked the room and ran her hands over the furniture and knickknacks. Dwayne watched her with an odd expression on his face.
"If you live, you're invited," I promised as I tried to figure out what was going on.
"Awesome. Yet another reason to kill my dad."
Dwayne fluffed some pillows and gave me a look indicating we needed to talk in private, but as always he was the polite host.
"So Dima, how old are you?" he asked.
Well, kind of polite…
She pursed her lips and gave him a look. "I'm assuming since you're asking you already know," she said.
"Possibly."
"I'm four hundred and ninety-nine years old. I'll be five hundred in nine months. If I don't find a mate, which by the way is very difficult to do considering my father has killed every male Dragon I have shown even the smallest amount of interest in, I'll die on my birthday."
"Dude, that's harsh," I said seriously.
"Yep," she agreed. "No male Dragon wants to be in the same room with me, so I'm gonna have to kill Pappy."
"It certainly won't be a loss if he's no longer in the world," Dwayne muttered. "Are you prepared to rule your people?"
"No, but is anyone ever prepared for that level of responsibility?" she shot back.
"I suppose not," he said as he eyed her with interest.
"Daddy," Pat yelled as she ran into the room. She tripped over and broke what I was positive was a priceless turn of the century antique coffee table. "Granny is convulsing and spitting up blood. Something is wrong."
"Oh shit," Dwayne hissed as he flew from the room at a speed that would have been impossible to follow.
"Where is she?" Hank ground out as Pat picked herself up off the floor and wiped her tears.
"Dungeon," she said and then saw the looks of shock and horror on our faces. "Oh my goodness," she sputtered. "It's lovely—not your typical dungeon at all. It has carpet and cable and air conditioning—very nice. But then again, my Daddy is not your typical Vampyre."
"I need to go to Granny," I insisted as I grabbed Pat and pulled her in the direction Dwayne had flown.
"Oh Essie, I don't know if it’s a good idea yet," she said as she wrung her huge hands. "It might be too dangerous for you if she wakes and is hungry."
"I don't care," I yelled. "If she's dying I need to be with her."
"She's already dead," Pat corrected me. "We are hoping she stays that way."
"Wait. What?" Dima asked, completely not with the program.
"Semantics," I huffed, ignoring her as I pushed Pat out of the room. "Take me to her or I'll go all Vampy on your ass."
"Yes, ma'am," she sputtered as she led us to a door. Behind it were a series of halls and stairwells.
"I have so many questions I don't even know where to begin," Dima said as she followed close behind. "And you're smoking crack if you think I'm not coming."
"Hold it," I shouted and slammed the Dragon up against the wall. "You tell me something now that will get you killed if it gets out. If you don't, you're not going a step farther."
"How will you know I'm not lying?" she challenged with narrowed eyes as thin tendrils of blue-green smoke wafted out of her nose.
"I won't, but if I think you are I will kill you dead right here. Right now," I said so calmly she tried to back away. Walls weren't conducive for movement.
"I'll know if you're lying," Hank said softly in a hard voice that made me shiver and not in a good way.
He stood next to me as we boxed Dima in. We watched her closely. If her story to Dwayne was true, she probably wasn't long for this world and had little to lose. Lying to us would be small compared to what possibly lay ahead in her not too distant future. However, I liked her. I wanted her to be a good guy. I wanted her to come to my wedding. I wanted her to see Dwayne in the horrid poofy dress.
"The Dragon property butts up to this one. I've stayed in this house before. It's always empty—has been for about forty years. I knew a Vamp owned it, but this is the first time I've ever heard of him being here," she said carefully.
"More," I growled. "That's not enough. That info doesn't put your life in danger. Talk fast, Dragon, or you're out of here."
"If I tell you more, you will let me have the ability to shift. I can't kill my father or protect myself unless I can shift," she bargained.
Her demand wasn't unreasonable—at all. It made my stomach clench, but I wouldn't send any soldier into battle unarmed. She'd had plenty of opportunity to try and kill us, but she hadn't. Trusting my gut was a lot easier when the most complicated thing I was doing was playing Candy Crush. Real life had a way of making one second guess themselves.
"You can shift. We won't make you drink anymore," Hank told her.
I glanced over in surprise, but he just gave me a terse nod. If he trusted her not to enlarge to the size of a football field and roast us like marshmallows, then I would too. However, I needed more blackmail information first.
"Talk, Dragon," I snapped.
"I don't know if this will count, but the Dragons know every inch of this house."
"Why?" I asked, knowing it was probably not a good thing at all.
"Because it butts up to our land and Dragons are curious. It's full of expensive and shiny objects."
"So the whole Dragons hoarding treasure thing is true?" I asked.
"For some," Dima admitted grudgingly.
"What exactly does a hoard mean to a Dragon?" Hank questioned as he backed off a bit.
After a short pause, Dima exhaled and hung her head. "Everything. A Dragon's hoard means everything to them. Without it a Dragon is nothing."
My stomach roiled at what I was about to do. I didn't want to do it, but my granny's future existence was on the line.
"Where is it?" I asked quietly.
Dima's quick intake of breath and Hank’s sharp exhale proved I'd hit a nerve—a big one.
"I don't know what you mean," she mumbled without making eye contact.
"Yes, Dima. Yes, you do. Tell me where your hoard is or I will have Pat kick your Dragon ass right out of this house and out of our lives. You can kill your daddy all by yourself or die trying. I don't care," I said harshly. I felt ill saying such things to her, but there was simply too much on t
he line to play nice.
"Something else," she begged brokenly. "Ask me for anything else."
"Their entire self worth is wrapped up in their hoard," Hank said in my head. "It's a brilliant move to make her tell us where hers is hidden."
Some Were In Time Page 21
