I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  Her green eyes rolled up in her head in typical Linda fashion. "Last night when I was walking Buster, some ol' huge, smelly thing knocked me down and sucked me dry. Then, apparently, I died." Her red hair, worn big and fluffy, looked particularly big and fluffy. She noticed the direction of my gaze and snorted. "If I'd'a known this would be my last hairdo for eternity, I would'a splurged on a whole new look."

  "I think it's you, hon," I said, and I meant it. "Let me guess the next part of your story. You woke up latched on to some handsome man's thigh?"

  Linda snorted again. "I wish. I woke up sucking on a neck the size of the panhandle." She waved pale hands that showed off long, sparkly green acrylic nails. "That one on the end with the baby blues and dark hair? Ivan Taganov or some such. I just about ate him alive." She waggled her fingers at Ivan and he leered at her in a way that made her giggle.

  "I tell you, I've been meaning to lose a few pounds and thanks to our new diet, that happened." Linda patted her waist. Yeah, she had lost a few pounds. She was still short and curvy, but the "chubs," as she'd called them, had disappeared. I watched as she gave me the once-over. "You're looking purty good, too, girl."

  "Thanks."

  "We aren't the only two, you know." She leaned back and I took a gander down the row.

  Damnation! There was Patsy Donahue, the owner of Hair Today, Curl Tomorrow, the only beauty salon in Broken Heart. I saw Simone Sweet, who was the best mechanic at Joe's Garage; Louise LeRoy, who had just moved here to take her deceased grandmother's place as our librarian (the library was housed in the old LeRoy Mansion); Phoebe Tate, a waitress at Old Sass Café; and there were others. I counted nine women, including me, and one man, Ralph Genessa, recently widowed and trying to raise his twin toddler sons. He worked as a short order cook for Old Sass Cafe down on Main Street

  .

  "Okay, toots," said Linda to Stan, which startled him so much he nearly dropped his favorite toy, "let's get a move on with these here proceedings. I'm hungry."

  Stan turned the color of an unwashed gym sock.

  Sweat poured off his brow and he wiped it away with his wrist, which he then rubbed on his khaki shorts. Sucking in a deep breath (lucky bastard), he placed the PDA onto the lectern then gripped its sides.

  "We appreciate your cooperation—"

  "As if we had a choice," interrupted Linda. "We all know that we're vampires. Hell, you're the only human here, shortcake."

  I looked at Stan. Linda was right. The townspeople had been turned into vampires, probably the very same night I had. Lorćan had been a busy little freak, hadn't he? Foreboding crawled down my spine and lodged in my stomach. Maybe if I'd killed Lorćan when I had the chance… but no, by then the damage had been done. How could one man, thing, kill ten people by draining 'em dry? And why had Patrick and his grim-looking cohorts saved us all?

  "Er, yes. Well." Stan cleared his throat. "I know you have questions. And we have a lot to cover before… um, you eat. If you'll look under your chairs, you'll find a personal digital assistant. It will be your way to contact us—"

  "And when you say us," I said, "who are you talking about?"

  "The Consortium," answered Patrick.

  "Which is what?"

  He lifted a shoulder, an elegant shrug that drew my attention to his broad shoulders.

  "You'll find a fact sheet about The Consortium on your PDAs," said Stan.

  Everyone retrieved their PDAs and turned them on. Some took out styluses and starting tapping and Stan droned on about how to operate the devices, where to find information, and how to contact the Consortium. So, I turned on my electronic thingamajigger, too. On the left side was a row of icons. One looked like a little sheet of paper with "FAQ" typed underneath it. I tapped the symbol.

  The Consortium FAQ

  Question: What is the Consortium?

  Answer: The Consortium is a five-hundred-year-old, not-for-profit organization created to facilitate relations between humans and non-humans. It is run by a council of duly elected officers who serve on the Board for hundred-year terms.

  Question: What is the Consortium's purpose?

  Answer: The Consortium's primary purpose is the betterment of all Earth's creatures through advances in science, technology, and medicine. Its secondary purpose is to build bridges between parakind and mankind so that one day, all sentient beings can live together in peace and prosperity. Our "bridge-building" is accomplished in many ways, and includes financing archaeological and historical research, creating safety zones for parakind, and donating funds to charitable causes.

  Question: Who can join the Consortium ?

  Answer: Anyone interested in supporting the Consortium's goals and submitting a financial donation of $100,000 or more. Members must also take a blood oath to uphold the Consortium's Code.

  I stopped reading. So this Consortium ran around and facilitated relations between boogeymen and humans? Hmmm. What did "creating safety zones for parakind" mean?

  My gaze zeroed in on Patrick. "So… not all vampires are part of the Consortium?"

  "No, but those who are must agree to follow our Code of Ethics."

  "What happens if they don't?"

  "Their membership is revoked."

  "That's it?"

  "It's a voluntary organization, love." He smiled. "We only want to help you."

  "Yeah. By keeping us as hostages."

  "As I promised, a thaisce, I will strive to keep your mind off such matters."

  His voice was silky and his eyes, just moments before as cold as ice, now shimmered with heat. While Patrick tried to enthrall me, and I'll tell you it was working, I did a little vampire math and came up with an answer I didn't like.

  "Who else shared your blood?" I asked.

  The question surprised him. He settled into his chair, assuming his previous devil-may-care attitude. And he remained silent.

  "Who else?" I waved at the Panel of Doom. "There are only seven of you. One of y'all did some overtime and you're probably the oldest, so it's only logical to think you'd offered your bloody charms to a couple more victims."

  The other vampires shifted restlessly, their eyes slitted dangerously as they glared at me. I stuck out my tongue. That cracked up four of the men, who slouched in their seats and returned their gazes to the Vamp 101 participants. The rest, including Ivan Taganov and Miss Pixie With Fangs, kept their attention on me.

  What's the matter, love? Are you jealous? Patrick's voice was inside my head. Inside my freaking head. Well, if he could be in my mind, that meant I could be in his. No, I am not jealous! I sent out a scorching wave of fury right into his brain. His head jerked as if he'd been slapped. I grinned in petty satisfaction.

  His brows rose in either surprise or acquiescence. Only one other, he admitted, but I do not claim her. Before I could ask just what the hell that comment meant, the rear door to the gym squealed open and we all heard the slapping of flip-flops on the waxed floor. The hair on my nape electrified and I felt a snarl catch in my throat.

  "Sorry I'm late," said the soft voice of a young woman. "My son wouldn't—"

  Her voice choked off as I stood up and whirled around. The fury I'd just directed at Patrick was nothing compared to the rage burning inside me now.

  One more new vampire had joined our ranks. And it was the only person in town I'd want to see dead… the conniving bitch who'd stolen my husband with her youth and her charm and her goddamned big breasts.

  Charlene Mason.

  Chapter 5

  I had Charlene flat on her back, my fangs at her throat, before that bitch could blink. I was hungry, too, and the idea of slurping the blood of a betrayer made me salivate.

  Then Patrick was there, hauling me off and dragging me out of the gymnasium. The last thing I saw was Stan helping Charlene stand and the smirk on Linda's face as she gave me a thumbs-up.

  "What the hell is going on?" asked Patrick. He pinned me against the wall and I knew that even with my newly acquired strength, I wouldn'
t be able to budge him.

  "I'm hungry," I said.

  "Hunger isn't the reason you attacked Charlene. You intended to kill her."

  I processed his accusation and felt a teeny tiny stab of guilt. So, okay, maybe I didn't want Charlene dead. Well, more dead. "I bet her blood tastes like a septic tank anyway."

  "Why do you hate her?"

  "It's a long story."

  "We have time."

  "No kidding."

  He sighed and his grip lessened. "If you don't want to tell me, a thaisce, I can always ask Charlene. She is under my protection."

  "Yeah, yeah. The Consortium. Blah, blah, blah."

  "No, Jessica. My personal protection. When a human goes through the Turn, the Master is bound by tradition and by blood to protect those he brings into our world."

  Cold horror filtered through the burning embers of my anger. "No. Goddamn it, no! Please tell me you didn't let Charlene suck your thigh."

  "Of course not," he said, "she took her salvation from my neck."

  Well, what was the damn difference? I leaned, against the wall and shrugged off his grasp. His hands slid down my shoulders, his fingers grazing my bare arms before he stepped back. The kernel of guilt wedged in my gut blossomed into a painful, pulsating ache. A light wind brought the scent of honeysuckle. My gaze lifted to the sliver of pale moon that hung in the black sky.

  "I'm being a royal bitch," I said. "I'm sorry."

  "Forgiven." He smiled, looking as if he wanted to kiss me, but thought better of it. "And Charlene?"

  I looked at my feet. "She fucked my husband, okay? Then she had his kid. Rich and I were in the middle of a messy divorce when he got into a fatal car accident a year ago."

  "I see."

  "I'm glad someone does because I can't see clearly at all. Rich is dead and Charlene is an outcast and I still feel hurt and angry and mean-hearted. And now I'm a vampire and I don't even get the satisfaction of outliving Charlene. I don't get to watch her get old and fat and gray. And she will always be younger than me. Forever." Oh, I was pitiful. Pathetic. I felt Patrick's thumb slide under my chin. He pushed gently until I looked at him. "What?"

  "Would you like to get out of here?"

  "Desperately."

  He grabbed my hands and we rose into the air. My stomach dipped and twisted. Last night, I'd flown over my house without a thought about how I was doing it. This time, with Patrick, I suddenly realized I was hovering above the ground with nothing to hang on to if I fell.

  "You can't die, love," said Patrick.

  "Stop reading my mind."

  "I'm reading your expression."

  We rose higher and higher until we floated above the gymnasium. The air was thick with humidity and even though I no longer breathed, the wetness seemed to fill my lungs. Patrick guided us upward until the high school looked like a big stack of yellow LEGOs.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "Where do you want to go?"

  Loaded question, buddy. Where did the undead go, anyway? I wanted to go somewhere where I felt alive, where I felt human, where I felt normal. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to decide. One second, I was flying along like a wingless bat, and then the next, whoosh… down I went, like a freaking lead balloon. Luckily, Patrick grabbed me and lowered me to the ground.

  When I was done cursing and shaking, I broke away from his very yummy arms and looked around. We had landed at Putt 'Er There, a mini-golf course that had gone out of business last winter. Broken Heart, Oklahoma, might be a haven for women and men suffering from lost love and bad relationships, but the town itself was suffering, too.

  Like most small towns, we relied on agriculture and tourist trade to keep us going. But the farms in the area were struggling badly and had been for a while, thanks to drought and low market prices caused by heinous factory farming. Tourists didn't stop here anymore to do antiquing or have lunch at quaint tea shops. Those places had closed up. Many people had sold their homes or their businesses and left.

  Somewhere along the way, we'd lost the desire and drive to save Broken Heart. We had no hope, but you know, we also seemed to relish the despair. Souls trapped in a purgatory of our own making. Sheesh. Was being a vampire making me über morbid or what?

  I watched Patrick check out the place. His gaze took in the dilapidated buildings and knee-high grass. He rounded the small but deep pond and walked to the windmill, which had toppled over after Wilson Jones rammed his truck into it. Willie lived a mile away, but after one too many whiskeys at the Barley & Boob Barn, he missed the dirt-road entrance to his place and plowed into Putt 'Er There.

  "Barley and Boob Barn?" asked Patrick.

  "You are really creeping me out with the mind-reading thing." I gestured toward the west, where the only viable business near Broken Heart still existed. "Old Farmer Smythe sold his farm to some guy from Las Vegas. He razed all the buildings except the bam. That he converted into a strip club. We think hanky panky goes on out there, too, but no one really bothers to check."

  "Why?"

  "For one thing, it's the only place bringing in people. They gas up at the Thrifty Sip and buy dinner at the Old Sass Cafe. The girls at the Bam get their hair and nails done at Patsy's place." I poked at a tuft of grass with my shoe. "For another, the county sheriff gets paid to look the other way. Truthfully, the activities at the B and B are the least of our worries."

  "Yes," said Patrick, nodding. "It does seem that your town is in a lot of trouble."

  "Broken Heart barely exists anymore. We have two bona fide police officers and a voluntary fire department. The elementary school burned down a while back, which means all the kids go to the high school. Businesses are failing and citizens like me, who can trace their roots all the way back to the founders, are leaving. We have, maybe, three hundred people living here now. It's like the place really is cursed."

  "Why haven't you left?"

  "That very question has been on my mind," I admitted. "We have enough money from Rich's life insurance and the sale of his business to live on for a good long while. But, it's a moot point now. The choice has been taken from me."

  "Temporarily." In the blink of an eye he moved from his position near the broken windmill to two inches away from my face. My mouth went slack with shock.

  "What other secrets do you hide, Jessica?" He leaned in, his lips very close to mine. My gaze was drawn to his mouth—his plump, red, juicy, kissable mouth. Yum.

  "Well, if I told you, they wouldn't be secrets." I tried to back away, to get some breathable (figuratively, of course) space between me and the cute dead guy, but he tracked me until my back hit the wall of the shed that used to store the supplies for Putt 'Er There.

  I felt a flicker in my mind and realized Patrick was poking around in my thoughts again. "Will you stop that? I'm boring! Reading my mind is a big snore-fest, okay? It would severely damage my self-esteem to see you fall asleep in mid-mind read. So, really, stay out of my head."

  "No." He flattened his palms on the wall just above my shoulders. His hair tickled my cheek as he leaned close to my ear. "I like being inside you."

  Oh. My. God. An erotic image flashed: Me and Patrick naked and sweaty, moans echoing as his cock thrust… oh shit. Desire beat a tempo in my veins; hell, it mamboed all the way down to my nether regions. My poor, sexually deprived womanhood almost went into nuclear meltdown.

  "You did that on purpose," I accused, my voice barely a whisper.

  "Did what?" he asked, all sweet innocence. The look in his eyes was another story, though. I've seen lust in a man's gaze, but the emotion lurking in Patrick's eyes was a deep, dark, very dangerous version of sexual attraction. What I saw there, glittering in those silver orbs, sent skitters of fear—and terrible desire—up my spine.

  "Quit putting those… those suggestions into my brain."

  "Whatever you imagined, céadsearc, is of your own making."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you probably want to do naughty
things with me." He grinned and I saw his fangs. You would think that someone with limited vamp experience and a not-so-great reaction to piercing, pain, or blood would run screaming away from a man with teeth like that. But I didn't. I kinda sorta maybe wanted him to use those fangs on me.

  "I meant, smart ass, what do those weird words mean. Hey! Are you insulting me in Irish?"

  "Gaelic. A thaisce and céadsearc are not insults."

  I waited for him to define the terms, but he did not explain. Instead, he chose to explore my neck. With his lips. Pure lust shuddered through me as his mouth scraped my collarbone, his tongue tracing an intricate pattern to a sensitive spot behind my ear. My hands crept into his soft, thick hair, raking through the strands because the alternative was to put my hands elsewhere on his gorgeous, muscled frame… and… and… what was my objection again?

  "I feel your hunger," he said. "Would you like to feed?"

  "On you?"

  "If you like." The whispered invitation promised ecstasy. If I still had a heartbeat, it would've gone into convulsions. Dare I convey my earlier desire for Patrick to nibble on me? Just a little bite? Hmmm?

  "No," he said, answering the question I hadn't voiced. "I cannot."

  "Why not? I've feasted on you like you're a two-dollar buffet."

  He lifted his head and my fingers sifted out of his hair, fell to his shoulders, and, of their own accord and without express permission, stroked down his pectorals. Mmmm. Abs of steel. I sighed (okay, I tried to sigh) in delight.

  "I do not think being compared to a cheap meal is a compliment," he said, though his lips quirked in suppressed laughter. "You don't know what you are asking." Or realize what I've allowed.

  "Allowed? What did you allow?"

  "Damn." He stepped back and the torturous ache of need building between us fizzled away. Poof. Gone. I lamented the loss of feeling wanted—and of wanting. "I begin to see your reasons for wishing I would not poke around in your mind. I will explain everything, Jessica. But please understand that what exists between you and me is…" He struggled, apparently trying to find the right word. "Rare."