Christ, he wanted her.
He wanted to talk to her again, like they used to. He wanted her slender body pressed to his. He wanted to tell her everything that had happened in the last ten years.
But he couldn’t. How could he tell her something like this?
Oh, please, Lassiter, Bud scoffed in his head. That’s an easy way out for you. Hide behind me, why don’t you? All these years you’ve been so determined to find the answer to this mess that you’ve forgotten about real, live people. Why don’t you go get laid? Oh, wait, you did that. Why, I had to turn my wee parakeet eyes the other way when the two of you were all over each other.
Bud? What? Shut up.
* * *
How he felt about her?
And how do you feel about Emerson?
“So, I could certainly use one,” he went on. “A friend, that is.” Pushing off on his heels, Lassiter rose and headed back toward the kitchen, opening the fridge door.
Emerson followed, hoping he’d talk to her some more, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the contents of the fridge. The light from the refrigerator shone on his face, making his skin look eerily pale, but still as handsome as he’d always been to Emerson. His complexion was a rare blend of creamy beige, mixed with a dab of color on his cheeks. His cheeks were razor sharp and had dimples, deeply grooved on either side of his mouth.
She sniffed the air again. An unfamiliar, yet faintly copper smell assaulted her snout. Peering closer inside the fridge, she lifted her head and looked closer.
Um, unless she was mistaken, he had a whole lot of something that didn’t look like the drink of champions in yon refrigerator.
It looked like blood.
Blood like one would find stored in a hospital blood bank.
Eek.
Well, then.
This was freaky beyond her expectations.
He shook the plastic bag of blood and took a small orange straw from the drawer, pushing it into the bag and sipped.
Like it was a fucking juice box or something.
But that sure as shit wasn’t Hi-C Red Raspberry Splash.
Catching Emerson watching him, Lassiter grinned, his eyes glowing. “You can smell it, can’t you, Princess? I know, you’re thinking what the hell, right? All vampires drink blood, puppy.” Winking, he smiled again, flashing his incisors, now long and gleaming in the dim light over the kitchen sink.
“Bloodbloodblood,” Bud screeched, flying above her head and landing on Lassiter’s broad shoulder.
Only vampires have fangs.
Of course they do silly. Lassiter has fangs.
Very shiny, white ones too. Only vampires drink blood.
Of course they do, silly.
Blood.
AB negative.
Or maybe he liked O positive? Blood.
Vampires.
Jesus Christ in a mini skirt. Lassiter Adams was a vampire. Hookay, time to go.
Chapter Eight
Emerson scooted out the sliding glass door like a gang of rednecks in Hooterville were hot on her heels, threatening to marry her off to Bubba. She tried to be as nonchalant as she could about it, but when she scratched at the door, Lassiter asked if she had to “make potties.” Emerson would have yelled a resounding, “Hell, yes,” if she’d been in human form.
Her legs took the stretch of woods in harried urgency.
Memories from long ago rushed to her mind’s eye. They crowded out everything but what she’d just seen. Every conversation they’d ever had, every secret they’d shared she could remember in vivid detail.
How could he have not told her he was a vampire?
Which spawned the question, why hadn’t she told him she was a werewolf? Because you just don’t walk up to your best friend and school girl crush and say,
“Oh and FYI, I’m a werewolf. Kinda like a dog, but not quite the same, ya feel me? You know, woof woof.”
Why hadn’t she smelled him and the difference between a human’s scent and a vampire’s?
Because your hormones were in overdrive?
What the hell did a vampire smell like anyway?
Ohmigod. It all made sense now. His pale skin, his sunglasses, his solitude. They both had their reasons for secreting away, spending little time with their own peers.
Their paranormal bond had drawn them together and neither one had ever been the wiser. Her worry that Lassiter would find out what she was had been for naught. Each full moon when she’d fretted if they were due to meet, she’d worried he’d find out. Lassiter must have been as worried she’d find out about him.
Had his foster parents known? If vampires needed blood to survive, how had he managed to make it all those years on just Mrs. Fuller’s chicken fried steak?
But he’d had food in his refrigerator.
None of this was adding up and the more she thought about it, the more two plus two equaled something other than four.
Emerson pushed her way through a thicket of trees, panting from her getaway. She found the spot where she’d left her clothes and began to shift. A chill coursed down her spine when she shifted back to her human form.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she’d just seen. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock that Lassiter hadn’t shared the single biggest secret he had with her.
Emerson wasn’t sure which upset her more, finding out at all or finding out without the benefit of Lassiter telling her.
Pulling on her clothes and leaning against the trunk of the tree, she sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her head was a mixed up jumble of emotions. Lost in the memory of conversations they’d had that now had a whole new meaning. She felt confused and lost.
Yet, one thing remained predominant in her mind and it wouldn’t let her go. This situation also had another meaning.
A bigger meaning than she’d first thought.
Lassiter Adams was no Adams. Not of the werewolf kind anyway.
The liar.
However, that didn’t make much of a difference now. Lassiter had the money it had cost to buy the Adams land. It mattered little that he wasn’t kin.
And this letter. What did it mean? What did it say and why had it brought him here to this specific Adams-owned land?
The Adams name and whatever Lassiter wanted fit like two pieces of a puzzle. They were tied together with some sort of significance and Emerson had to find out what that was. She also had to tell the Adamses.
Cold now from the wind and her shift, Emerson rose to make her way back to the Adams house. On stiff legs, she ran a hand over her mussed hair.
“Emerson?”
Her head whipped around. Startled, she faltered, tripping on a fallen branch. Lassiter’s hand snaked out to catch her.
His vampire hand.
Where had he come from and how did he manage to always sneak up on her without her noticing?
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, keeping hold of her hand.
“What are you doing out here?” she volleyed back.
“Looking for a do — Never mind. Why are you out here? It’s cold.”
“I’m admiring the trashed landscape,” she snapped.
His sigh carried on the howl of the wind. It held exasperation. “Emerson —”
“Don’t Emerson me, Lassiter. You’re ruining this beautiful retreat for your own selfish purposes. So you can make a little money to put in your already fat bank account. Damn it, Lassiter, who the hell are you?” she yelled into his face. Vampire or not, she wasn’t afraid to voice her opinion. As long as he wasn’t into biting. Those fangs had looked pretty damned sharp. That was okay, she had incisors too. Grrrrr and all.
“I know you’re angry with me, Em. It still isn’t what you think.”
No, no siree, it sure as hell wasn’t what she thought anymore. She never in a millennium thought Lassiter was a vampire.
Looking down at her hand clasped in his own, Emerson yanked it away. “So, why don’t you throw me a b
one, Lassiter? What is it if it isn’t what I think?”
“Forget it.”
“I can’t forget it.”
“You’ll have to.”
“Exactly. Now we’re back to square one again. I have to go. I’m cold.”
“Don’t…”
Hearing the regret in his voice, Emerson stopped cold, hoping he’d spill the beans. For a mere second, she’d heard the Lassiter that once sat on a park bench with her and told her it was no big deal that she was so skinny. Someday, boys would be crazy about her. The Lassiter that held her hand when she’d cried because one of the animals she’d fallen in love with at the animal shelter had died.
“Don’t what?” she asked, soft and almost hesitant to hear his answer.
His jaw ticked. “Nothing.”
Being a vampire was nothing? Nothing?
Was being a werewolf? a voice whispered in her conscience.
Oh, the secrets and lies they’d created.
For some reason, tears stung her eyes. Tears for who they once had been, for who they were now. For all of the reasons they couldn’t talk the way they’d once been so adept at.
On impulse, Emerson reached up, cupping his jaw, running her thumb over the rigid line, trying to smooth away the tension. Pulling his tall frame close, she gave him a brief kiss, skimming his lips with her own and moving away with haste before she said, “I don’t know you anymore, Lassiter, but I’d like to.”
His arms went to gather her close, but she pressed a finger to his lips and moved out of them, knowing what would happen if she let him hold her.
“For old time’s sake, I’m ready whenever you are, Lassiter,” she whispered, hearing the sad tinge to her words.
Squeezing his arm, Emerson turned and walked back toward the Adams house. Her heart thrashed in a painful rhythm with each step she took. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to remember.
It hurt period.
* * *
“We have to talk,” Emerson said to Max while they sat in the kitchen, sharing a cup of coffee. Her restless night’s sleep had led to a morning filled with questions and still no answers. She did know one thing, she had to tell the Adams pack. No matter how she felt about Lassiter, they deserved to know the truth.
“Go for it,” Max said with a congenial smile.
Licking her lips, Emerson took a breath of air. “Lassiter Adams can’t be an Adams.”
Max’s chuckle was something Emerson hadn’t expected. “I figured as much. How’d you find out for sure?”
“It doesn’t matter. Can I ask you a question that’s gonna seem way out of left field?”
Sipping his coffee, he nodded. “Of course. Shoot.”
Well, there wasn’t any beating around the bush about it. So she’d just ask and damn the consequences. “Do you believe in vampires?”
His dark eyebrows rose. “Well, I guess I can’t say as I don’t. I mean, it would be hypocritical if I said I didn’t, seeing as I’m what JC calls a dog, right? I’m a werewolf. So are you. I exist, so I’m sure other paranormal beings exist too.”
Emerson shifted in her chair and rubbed her neck. “Wanna know why I know Lassiter isn’t related to you?”
Max’s handsome face frowned. “If you two had some sort of kinky liaison and he confessed during a good round of hide the baloney, then, no, I don’t think I want to know.”
Emerson’s jaw dropped. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’ve seen you look at him when he’s not looking. Even in the height of your frenzied protests, you looked like you kinda dug him. He looks at you the same way. It doesn’t make me any less pissed that he’s here, tearing the shit out of my land, but it’s there just the same.”
For fuck’s sake. This was ridiculous. Did everyone think Lassiter had a thing for her?
“Yes.”
“Yes, what,” she spat, angry that he and his family had noticed.
“Yes, we all think Lassiter likes you. It’s sort of bizarre, the vibes I get from you two. I haven’t been able to pinpoint it.”
“It’s called lust, honey,” JC answered for him, waddling into the kitchen. “It’s what gave me this.” She pointed to her belly and smiled. “I take it we’re talking Lassiter and Emerson?” Lowering herself into a chair, JC sat down and folded her hands together.
Max’s head bobbed up and down.
Emerson hopped up from her chair and thwarted any further conversation about her and Lassiter. “Do you want to know how I know Lassiter isn’t really an Adams or not?”
“Oh, relax, Emerson,” JC chided. “It really is okay to be hot for a bad boy. We’ve all done it once in our lives. Lassiter is pretty hot, even if he is kinda pale. Lassiter has some deeper issues than building condos, that’s for sure. I just don’t know what. But I’ve seen him with that bird and I know he’s not a meat murderer, as you call it.” Clucking her tongue, JC shook her dark, curly head. “I just can’t figure him out.”
“Well, I did.”
“Pumpkin?” Max said to JC, smiling at her. “Emerson has something she’d like to say.”
JC leaned back in her chair and looked toward Emerson with an expectant expression.
Shoving her hands into the pocket of her worn jeans, Emerson looked back at them both. “I know he’s not an Adams because he’s no werewolf.”
“Well, we didn’t know for sure,” JC reminded her. “It’s why we haven’t beaten him up for ruining the land out there. If someone were to know about us, we’d be in far worse trouble than we are now. It’s rather irritating to know Max could annihilate him and he hasn’t for fear of being found out. Talk about your hands being tied behind your back, huh? So do tell. How’d you find out he’s not a werewolf?”
“He’s a vampire.”
“Wow. Cool. Like drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin, vampire? How do you suppose he put a coffin in that little trailer out there?” JC wondered out loud, completely unfazed by what Emerson had just revealed.
“Did you hear me, JC? Lassiter Adams is a vampire,” Emerson repeated, hopefully this time with effect.
Taking a long sigh, JC nodded. “I know this is the part where I’m supposed to freak out, but do remember where I found my lifemate, would ya? In the pound. And also remember, he’s a freakin’ dog. Just like you, Em. Nothing could faze me after that. I have no doubt that there are plenty of you critters around, and I have no doubt there are critters I know nothing about. I’m not egotistical enough to believe I’m the only life form that roams the planet. I’m good with it. It’s really sorta X-Files, if you ask me.”
“The point is, if he’s a vampire, he can’t be an Adams,” Emerson stated.
JC cocked her head up at Emerson and giggled. “Er, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Em. The Adams are a busy bunch. Look at Max and I. I’m human. Martine is a cat. Hector is a vegetarian, Xavier is a lion. Why would it surprise you that a vampire might be related to them? Nothing surprises me when it comes to this bunch of nuts.”
Emerson’s brow furrowed. “You can’t possibly believe that what he says is true!” JC stood, pushing back from the table and placing a hand in the crook of her back. “After what I’ve seen, Em, I’d believe anything.” Coming to stand near Emerson, she picked a lock of her shoulder length blonde hair up and examined it. “You know, Em. I’ve been thinking about your hair. It’s so beautiful. Never been dyed, silky and the color is gorgeous. Why don’t you let me trim it? You could use a trim.”
She’d just told them that Lassiter was a vampire and JC was offering product tips and makeovers. “Are you people insane? Lassiter is a vampire. A vampire!”
Max barked a laugh. “Yeah and so?”
JC laughed too. “It doesn’t change anything. He still bought the land and paid those trumped up back taxes. He owns it. Even if he’s an alien with two packages. He has the right to dig it up.”
“And he digs you, Emerson,” Max teased.
Deflated, Emerson knew she was going to have to confess to them
about her past relationship too. It would save the questions later if they found out. She’d rather they heard it from her than someone else, or maybe even Lassiter. “I also have a confession to make.”
JC rolled her eyes. “Lord, Emerson! What else is there?” Throwing her hands up, she said, “Forget I asked that. Never mind. I can only imagine. Go ahead, tell us.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Emerson sighed. “Lassiter and I were once friends. We kind of spent some of our last years in high school together.”
Rocking back on his chair, Max gave her a knowing smile. “I knew I felt something between you two. I knew it. Question is, why didn’t you tell us before?”
Pushing her hair behind her ear, she looked Max directly in the eye. “I didn’t think it was relevant, and he’s not the man I once knew.”
“So what do you know about Lassiter? If you spent some time in high school with him, you must know who he comes from. Where he comes from. What his parents are like,” Max asked.
“Lassiter is adopted. Well, not adopted, he was a foster child for almost all of his life. We saw each other in California again about three years ago. I hadn’t seen him in almost ten years by then. He was so different from the man I knew when I was a kid. Knowing him didn’t change the fact that we had different beliefs, and it didn’t change the fact that I was going to keep protesting his stupid condos.”
“So you have unresolved feelings for him. Don’t bother to deny it, it’s written all over your face.” She waved her hand, dismissing the thought. “Forget that for now. Even if he isn’t really an Adams, he had the money to pay off those trumped up back taxes. That still brings us right back to where we were. No condos. He hasn’t built a single thing. He’s torn up a tree or five and made himself a nice little trailer park, but no condos. So what do you think he’s up to?” JC asked, wrapping her arms around Max’s shoulders.
“I did something pretty sneaky last night,” Emerson said, almost more to herself than to Max and JC.
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