Eighth Grave After Dark

by Darynda Jones

  He darkened instantly. His gaze dropped to Danger and Will Robinson, aka my breasts. His gaze did that often, unruly thing that it was. Danger and Will loved the attention.

  “You shouldn’t tempt me,” he said, his voice growing ragged.

  A tingle of desire sparked to life, causing a warmth to pool in my abdomen. “You’re the only one I should tempt, seeing as how we’re hitched.”

  He wrapped a hand around my throat ever so softly and led me back against the mirror. It wasn’t his actions that jump-started my heart, but the raw lust that consumed him. The dark need in his eyes. The severity of his drawn brows. The sensuality of his parted mouth. My girl parts tightened when he dipped his hand into my shirt. His thumb grazed over a hardened nipple, and a jolt of pleasure shot straight to my core.

  “I’m here!” Cookie called from down the hall, her voice breathy, winded from the stairs.

  I almost groaned aloud at the interruption. Reyes’s grip on my throat tightened. He tilted my face up to his and whispered, “We’ll continue this later.”

  “Promise?” I asked, unwilling to relinquish the impish bit.

  He covered my mouth with his, his tongue hot as it dived inside me, as he melted my knees and stole my breath. Then, a microsecond before Cookie walked in, he pushed off me with a wink and strolled to look out the window. Still weak from his kiss, I almost stumbled forward.

  “I’m here,” said Cookie Kowalski, my assistant who moonlighted as my best friend, as she rushed into the room.

  It took me a sec, but I finally tore my gaze off my husband. Cookie’s short black hair had been flattened on one side, making her look lopsided. Her mismatched clothes were rumpled and a purple scarf dangled off one shoulder, perilously close to falling to the floor. Though Cook was considered large by society’s standards, she wore her size well. She had the beauty and confidence of an eccentric, wardrobe-challenged countess. Normally. Today she looked more like a frazzled scullery maid.

  I fought a grin and chastised her for her tardiness. “It’s about time, missy,” I said, tapping my naked wrist to make my point clear.

  She gasped audibly, then looked at her watch. Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Charley, damn it. The wedding isn’t for hours.”

  “I know,” I said, stepping closer as she sat some bags on a bench at the end of the bed. “I just like to keep you on your toes.”

  “Oh, you do that. No worries there. I’m like a ballerina when you’re around.”

  “Sweet.” I leaned over to peek inside a bag. “I also want to thank you again for having the wedding here.” She did so to accommodate Reyes and me, since we couldn’t leave the grounds.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked. “This place is perfect. Who gets to have a wedding in a historic convent surrounded by a lush forest adorned with the colors of autumn? Me. That’s who.” She gave my shoulders a quick one-armed squeeze. “I am beyond thrilled, hon.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “And, by having it here,” she continued, pulling out a fluff of pink material from one of the bags, “neither you nor Reyes will be ripped apart by hellhounds during the ceremony. I’d love to get through this without getting blood on my wedding gown.”

  “It’s so always about you,” I said, and she laughed. Mission complete.

  She took a ribbon off the material, then noticed Reyes’s tousled state. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  He turned, but only slightly, not wanting to expose the evidence of exactly what she’d interrupted. “Not at all,” he said, pointing outside. “We were just talking about all the departed—”

  “—who have passed on over the years,” I said, stopping him from making a grave mistake. “And, boy, are there lots.” I snorted. “Like millions. Maybe even billions.”

  Cookie stopped what she was doing—namely rummaging through another shopping bag—and turned toward me, her movements slow. Methodical. Calculated. “There—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and started over. “There are dead people on the lawn, aren’t there?”

  “What?” I dismissed her suspicions with a wave of my hand. Because that always worked. “Pfft, no way. Why would there—? I mean, what would they be doing on—?”

  “Charley,” she said in warning, her hangover voice low and alarmingly sexy.

  I bit down, cursing myself for my utter lack of finesse. This was her wedding day, and her nerves had been stretched thin enough without a last-minute addition of the recently departed to the guest list.

  “Only a couple,” I said, strolling nonchalantly to Reyes’s side and looking out the two-story window. I was such a liar. There were at least a hundred departed standing in front of the convent. Silent. Unmoving. Unblinking. This was going to be the creepiest wedding ever. At least they weren’t coming inside, but the wedding was actually outside in a little clearing behind the convent. Thankfully, they hadn’t invaded that area. Much.

  Reyes leaned down to me and whispered into my ear. “Your nearness isn’t helping my condition.”

  I glanced at his crotch. The fullness caused a flush to rise in my cheeks. But he was right. Now was not the time. “Sorry,” I whispered back before turning to Cookie again. “What’s that?”

  She was busy staring out another window, and I thanked God she couldn’t see the departed. “The curtains for the nursery came in,” she said absently.

  “Oh!” I rushed forward, snatched them out of her hands, and shook out a panel of pink taffeta. “I sure hope it’s a girl,” I said, trying to change the subject.

  “Of course it’s a girl,” she said, scanning the grounds. “All the prophecies say so. Where are they?”

  “The prophecies?”

  “The dead people.”

  “Right.” I looked out over the weathered grounds. The grass had yellowed over the last month, the trees burning with the bright oranges, golds, and reds of autumn.

  “They’re gone now,” I said, adding to the long list of sins I was committing in a house of God. “Those people love playing hide-and-seek. Seriously, it’s like a thing with them.”

  I looked up at her, worried she wouldn’t believe me, but her gaze had drifted somewhere else, namely to Reyes’s reflection in the window. His shirt still hung open, the white material a stark contrast to the dark skin beneath, the muscles leaving shadows along the upside-down T of his chest and the rungs of his abs. “Good Lord,” she said to me, her tone silky soft.

  I agreed completely. “Good Lord indeed.”

  We both gawked a solid minute before he realized what we were doing. He dipped his head, unable to suppress a brilliant smile, and cleared his throat before announcing he got the first shower.

  “I don’t know how you do it, hon,” Cook said when he left.

  The communal shower was down the hall, a rustic imitation of my shower at home. And the thought of him in it, with steaming hot water cascading over his shoulders, down the curve of his back, sent a tiny shiver through my body. “Do what? Keep my hands off him?”

  “No. Well, yes, but also keep your composure around him.” She sat against the windowsill. “I’m not supernatural or anything, but even I can feel his power. His … allure. Does that make sense?”

  “Damn straight it does.”

  “There’s just something so primal about him. So ethereal.”

  “And?” I ventured. Cookie didn’t usually say much without an ulterior motive.

  “I worry about him. About him being a dad.”

  Surprised, I stopped and straightened my shoulders. “What do you mean?” Then, as a possible explanation sank in, I felt my eyes widen. “Do you think he’ll be a bad father?” I turned and looked toward the door to make sure he’d left.

  “No,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m afraid he will sever the spine of any boy who breaks our girl’s heart.”

  “Oh,” I said, relief flooding me. But she had an incredibly well thought-out point. “Oh. You’re right. I didn’t think of that.”

&nbs
p; “You might want to discuss dating guidelines with him now. You know, before she turns five.”

  “Five?” I screeched. “Why five?”

  The smile that spread across her face was one of practiced stoicism, as though she were talking to a mental patient. “And just when did you become interested in boys?”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  2

  IRONY: THE OPPOSITE OF WRINKLY.

  —T-SHIRT

  Two hours later, a wonderful woman named Hildie was doing Cookie’s hair—thankfully, because I had no idea what to do with it—Amber was reading nursery rhymes to Beep, and I was eating strawberries atop my lofty position on a very swank divan named David Beckham. David sat by the window so I could look out at all the colors of autumn. He was thoughtful that way. He knew how much I loved fall, and fall in the Jemez Mountains was nothing short of spectacular.

  “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” Amber said, reading from a picture book she’d bought Beep. She glanced at my belly as though to check if Beep were paying attention.

  “Humpty didn’t have much of a life, did he?” I commented.

  “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,” she continued, ignoring me. It was weird.

  “Lack of exercise. No hand–eye coordination.”

  “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.”

  “Okay, stop right there,” I said, a strawberry hovering near my mouth. “How are the king’s horses going to help put an egg back together? Seriously. They’re horses.”

  Amber was Cookie’s thirteen-going-on-thirty-year-old daughter. She had what I’d begun to suspect was a touch of clairvoyance. She’d surprised me on several occasions with her knowledge or her visions of things to come, and she seemed to have a special connection with Beep. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Beep was calmer when Amber was around. It was uncanny.

  She sat in a chair beside me, her dark hair hanging in long ringlets down her back, her huge blue eyes concentrating on the pages before her. We were all in slips and robes—except Cookie, who was only in a slip underneath a massive hairdresser’s cape—even though the wedding wasn’t for another couple of hours. But both Amber’s and my hair had been done already, our nails appliquéd to perfection, our makeup soft and sparkly. It had a hint of glitter in it. I argued that my face was shiny enough without adding glitter, but Cookie insisted. She wanted princesses in her wedding, and by damn, we were going to be princesses. I refrained from telling her princesses didn’t wear glitter. Pole dancers wore glitter.

  “It’s a fairy tale,” Amber said with a giggle, looking toward the door again. Uncle Bob was bringing Quentin up for the wedding. Quentin was her best friend and the current love of her life. I had to admit, the kid had stolen my heart at first glance. I couldn’t imagine what he’d do to an impressionable girl. Thankfully, Cookie was too old for him.

  “Do you think anyone will show up?” Cookie asked me. Again. While Amber was keeping a constant vigil on the door, Cookie was keeping watch over the drive to the convent.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to laugh at her impatience. “Now, stop fidgeting.” Poor Hildie. “Do you guys want anything?” I stuffed the last of the strawberries into my mouth and picked up my phone.

  “Again?” Cookie asked. “That poor man.”

  “Are you kidding? Have you seen my ass? This is all his fault.”

  “Okay, then I’ll take a water.”

  “And I’ll take an orange soda,” Amber chimed in.

  “You got it. Hildie?”

  “I’m good,” she said, her brows furrowing in concentration.

  I texted Reyes. I’d been doing that a lot. Texting demands to my minions. Being fertilized had its upside. Two minutes later, Reyes, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, had raided the kitchen that was down the stairs, past the foyer, and through a great hall—in other words, way too far for me to walk at the moment—and delivered our order.

  He handed me a water with a wink. He’d showered, but had yet to shave. Or comb his hair. Or groom himself in any way. Gawd, he was sexy.

  “Is that what you’re wearing to the wedding?” I asked, teasing him.

  In an act that stunned me to my toes, my uncle had asked Reyes to be his best man. They’d grown very close over the past few months—a good thing, since it was basically my uncle Bob who’d put Reyes in prison. But even Reyes had to admit to the insurmountable evidence against him. Earl Walker, the monster who’d raised him, made sure Reyes would be convicted of his murder, and convicted he was. At least until the cops found Earl very much alive.

  “This doesn’t work?” he asked.

  “It works for me, but—”

  “Me, too,” Amber said, her crush on Reyes adorable. He flashed that brilliant smile of his. It was very unfair of him.

  “Me, three,” Cookie added.

  Reyes walked over to Cookie as Hildie teased her hair. Or tried to tease her hair. She slipped several times, her hands suddenly useless in the presence of the son of what was once the most beautiful angel in heaven.

  “I promise I’ll look more presentable than this when the time comes, but until then.” He took out a small box and handed it to her. “I wanted you to have this before everyone else demands your attention.”

  “Reyes,” she said, her eyes wide. She opened it, absorbed the meaning of what it was he was giving her, then threw her arms around his neck.

  A gold chain dangled from her fingers, and she flashed me the pendant, a diamond-studded infinity symbol.

  “It’s perfect,” she said softly, her eyes wet with emotion.

  He dipped his head in a bashful smile as she kissed his cheek. Then he turned back to me before I could hide the loving astonishment on my face.

  He enchanted.

  He simply enchanted.

  Stopping in his tracks when he saw my expression, he studied me a long moment before walking over to me and placing a kiss on my cheek. The act was an excuse to whisper in my ear. “You have to stop looking at me like that if we’re going to make it through the day without losing our clothes.”

  I turned to kiss him back. “I have no intention of making it through the day with you fully clothed.”

  He grinned again. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Pitocin?”

  One corner of his mouth rose. “What’s that?”

  “It induces labor. It’s about time for Beep to move out. Cut her hair. Get a job. I need a flat belly.”

  “Have you tried crunches?”

  “I just don’t get it. I’m supernatural. You’re supernatural. Why can’t we have one of those quick pregnancies like Bella and Edward? Gwen from Torchwood. Scully. Deanna Troi. Or even Cordelia when that demon impregnated her. Twenty-four hours later, bam! Demon child.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Cookie said, garnering herself a glare from her daughter. Ah, to be thirteen again.

  “Seriously, what’s with this nine-months crap? This is torture.” I grabbed my belly and scrunched up my face. “Agony. It’s worse than scurvy.” I didn’t actually know what scurvy was, but it sounded bad.

  Reyes chuckled softly, kissed the top of my head, and walked out. Walked out!

  “I’m not kidding!” I called after him. “I’m not putting up with this crap much longer.”

  “He’s gone,” Cookie said.

  “Oh, okay.” I cut the act short. “I have to admit, I feel wonderful. Nobody told me it would be like this. I have all this energy. I’m revved up, like, all the time.”

  “You’re nesting.”

  My brows slid together in doubt.

  “You know, getting ready for the baby to arrive.”

  “So, no actual nests?”

  Hildie chuckled as Cookie said, “No actual nests.”

  “Is this what it was like for you?”

  “I enjoyed my pregnancy quite a bit.”

  “Really?” Amber asked, grinning proudly from ear to ear as though it wer
e because of her instead of in spite of her.

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “What about your labor? How was that?”

  “That was fun, too,” she said without missing a beat, her smile suddenly as fake as the lashes Hildie had glued onto her eyelids.

  “Cookie, I know when someone is lying to me.”

  “Okay, okay. Fun might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it was, you know, interesting. It was a learning experience. You just have to remember it’s not forever. The good part is when you have to push. That’s when it feels better. But you can’t push too early.”

  I scanned the area for a pen and paper. “Do I need to take notes? Wait, what happens if I push too early? Katherine the Midwife didn’t say anything about pushing too early.”

  Katherine was the midwife Reyes had hired. I was surprised she hadn’t checked in yet. She’d been coming every day, since I was so close to my due date. That woman loved to poke and prod. I only liked being poked and prodded by one person, and his name was not Katherine.

  “What’ll happen?” Cookie asked, incredulous. “Are you crazy? If you push too early, you’ll— You’ll—” She stopped and stared into space.

  “Did you just have a seizure?”

  She blinked back to me. “No, it’s just I have no idea what’ll happen if you push too early.”

  She glanced at Hildie. The woman shrugged and kept teasing and tugging Cookie’s hair this way and that.

  Amber shrugged as well when I glanced at her askance.

  “You guys are no help. Now I’m going to be scared to death to push.”

  “Oh, you’ll push,” Cookie said.

  Hildie snorted and nodded in agreement.

  So did Amber, as though she were very aware of what happened during childbirth.

  “Someone’s here,” Amber said, jumping up and running to the window. Artemis, who had been snoring into the pillows on my bed, followed suit, barking at the car pulling into the drive.