I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  "Because I'm wearing your lost ring?"

  "Do you really think it's only about the fede?"

  "I don't know what to think. It's really weird that a bunch of vampires and werewolves caravanning in expensive RVs ended up here. And I just happen to be wearing a ring that once belonged to you?"

  Patrick nodded. "We meant to come here. Our other facility was destroyed and my father suggested the Consortium would find the town suitable for its needs. I didn't realize he also meant for me to find the descendent of Mary McCree."

  Questions crowded my mind. "Your father? Well, if you're still having conversations with him, he's gotta be a vampire, too. Why would you need to find someone descended from my grandmother?"

  He put a finger to my lips. "There's a lot to tell you—and you're still getting used to being a vampire."

  "That's an understatement." My hands had drifted to Patrick's waist. As my fingertips brushed his left hip, I felt a vibration. What the—I uttered a sound of surprise.

  Patrick lifted his shirt and pulled free a tiny cell phone from its clip. "Yes?"

  Foreboding rippled through me. I saw Patrick's expression go flat; his eyes turned the color of a rain cloud.

  "Don't do anything until I get there." He flipped shut the phone and reattached it to the clip. "We must go."

  The foreboding turned hard and cold in my gut. I swallowed the knot of fear clogging my throat. I knew my kids were not the ones in danger. It wasn't parental confidence, either. It was the real and true knowledge they were safe and sleeping soundly in their beds.

  He took my hands and we lifted into the air. We sped back to the high school and before I knew it, we had landed in the same spot we'd launched from.

  "What's happening?" I asked.

  His only response was a grimace as we went through the doors. The meeting was apparently over, though it seemed everyone was still in the gym socializing. Charlene sat apart from the other townspeople, who had, as always, shunned her. She messed around with her PDA and pretended not to be bothered by how everyone ignored her. Not even being one of eleven people Turned was enough to merit a little acceptance. I had never understood why Charlene hadn't packed up her kid and her possessions and just hit the road. With Rich dead, she had nothing and no one. An itty bitty iota of sympathy welled, but I quickly stomped on it. I did not feel sorry for Charlene.

  "Stay here." Patrick let go of my hand and strode like some bossy general toward Stan, Miss Tiny-Ass, and two men I hadn't seen sitting on the Panel of Doom. Hmmm. Why were they having a private powwow?

  "Hey, girl, Where'd you go to?" Linda asked, smiling. "Some show you put on there with ol' Charlene. And there wasn't even a two-drink minimum."

  "Har-de-har." But I grinned. "What happened at the meeting?"

  "Well, Stan blathered on about the Consortium, then one of the other guys… that one… he looks like melted chocolate, don't he? Anyhoodles, he got up and blathered on about some dig in Egypt. And then Ivan got up and talked about how he's been newly elected to the council and how the Consortium is here to protect us." Linda's eyes rolled. "Bored me outta my fucking gourd." Her gaze wandered to Patrick. "Who's that bit of fluff next to Patty O' Hunk?"

  Well, now. Wasn't that a sight? Miss Skinny Fangs was sidling next to Patrick. I nodded to Linda. "I'll talk to you later."

  "Yeah. You do that." She chuckled.

  I marched right up and insinuated myself into the little group. It gave me no small amount of pleasure to elbow aside the pixie so I could stand next to Patrick. She bared her teeth at me, her eyes narrowed into slits. Oh screw you, honey.

  "Go dtachta an diabhal thú!" she spat.

  Oopsie. I must've sent my little insult into her teeny brain. Heh. Heh. Cut it out, love. You're too open with your thoughts. I smiled at Patrick with a "who me" expression.

  "Nara!" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Do not curse a ghrá mo chroí."

  I didn't think it would be possible for a vampire to pale, but Nara did. She went white as Wonder Bread, her lips rounded in soundless denial. Ooookay. I was so Googling Gaelic terms when I got home.

  What did you tell her? I aimed the question right at Patrick.

  I merely told her the truth about you.

  And that was…

  Ssshhh.

  I gritted my teeth. Patrick was the most gorgeous man I'd ever had the pleasure of lusting after, but he was also the most stubborn, secretive, insensitive… um… er… did I say stubborn?

  Yes. Now be quiet.

  "Where is she?" asked Patrick.

  "A donor found the body near the communications RV," said Stan. "We were too late to save her."

  Patrick's expression held no emotion, but I felt his anguish. It slithered through me, clawing at my guts. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  "Did Lor… was he responsible?" he asked quietly.

  Stan couldn't meet Patrick's gaze. "I don't know."

  "If the human is dead, there's nothing we can do. Give it to the mortals for disposal and let's be done with it." Nara sounded bored and petulant. Her gaze raked me. Anger boiled through me. Someone had died… and Nara didn't give a shit.

  "Who is it? Someone in your crew?" I asked.

  "No," said Stan. "We do not know the identity of the woman."

  Nara studied her nails and sighed as only a heartless bitch could sigh. Damn her. How did she do that fake-breath thing? "Let Patrick's new play toy deal with it," she said. "She is the leader of this pitiable band of fools."

  Oh no she didn't. "Listen, sister, I'm not a play toy and I'm not leader of anything unless it's the Smack Nara Squad."

  "Why you insolent little Turn-blood! How dare you speak to your betters that way!" She looked as if she were contemplating the removal of my head.

  Okay, I had no idea why I didn't like this chickie-poo. Oh wait. She insulted me and she thought she was my better. Hah. And HAH again. Something else about her raised my hackles, too. I had an icky feeling in my stomach. Some people might point out I didn't like Nara because she was beauty personified and really, horribly thin and she had, if I wasn't mistaken, a thing for Patrick. Not that Patrick and I had done much more than share some blood and argue, but I still felt like he was mine. However, I didn't hate Nara because she was pretty, skinny, and hungry for Patrick.

  I didn't.

  Much.

  I looked at Nara, who was staring at Patrick. I resisted, barely, the urge to gouge out her eyes.

  You have no worries about Nara, a thaisce. I may need you to identify the woman who was killed. Are you able to do so?

  I'll try.

  Finally it sunk in. A woman was dead. Had Lor started feeding again? Surely he wouldn't be hungry so soon after practically devouring eleven people. Patrick, does anyone else know about the… uh, dead woman?

  None of the townspeople know, love.

  Nara wrapped her pretty little fingers around Patrick's muscled bicep. "You do not need to go with her. Send your drone. Go on with her, Stan. Your Master and I have business to discuss." Her gaze glittered as she smirked at me; her eyes suggested the kind of business she wanted to discuss involved beds and nakedness.

  "Stan isn't my drone. The Consortium does not condone the use of mortals as drones—you know that." He glared at her. "There is only one thing I want from you, Nara."

  "Hmmm… and there is only one thing I will trade for the object you desire." Nara clutched at him, desperation overcoming her arrogance. "We were good together once. We can be again."

  Again? As in… she and Patrick had a thing? Her gaze slid toward me, her eyes glowing with triumph. I have faced down bitchy PTA presidents, power-hungry principals, and Girl Scout leaders with cookie-sale complexes. Nara had no idea who she was dealing with.

  I slid my hand under hers and pried her fingers off Patrick's arm. I bent the digits back until they snapped. Shocked, she glared down at her crooked fingers, and then at me.

  "That hurt!" She looked at Patrick, her
face a mask of suffering. "You see what cruelty lies in this one's heart?"

  "I believe cruelty is your forte," he said softly, his expression blank. "You know who she is and yet you taunt her with innuendos."

  Nara licked her lips; her eyes filled with longing. "Padriag…"

  "I have had enough of weird languages and melodramatic vampires," I said. "Keep your mitts off him, Nara, or I'll break more than your hand."

  In an instant, the emotion clouding her face dissipated. She hissed, baring her teeth to show off her fangs. Her eyes glowed with hatred. "You're such a bitch."

  "No, honey. I'm not a bitch. I'm THE bitch." Just to piss her off, I put my hand on Patrick's neck and said, "Mine."

  "A thaisce!" yelled Patrick.

  "Mrs. Matthews!" squeaked Stan.

  "No!" raged Nara.

  I yanked away my hand. The imprint of a honeysuckle faded into Patrick's skin. I remembered seeing the same pattern on my children when I claimed them. Wait. Claimed them? How did I know what it meant? Oh shit! Did that mean I had claimed Patrick, too? "Did I break some sort of vampire policy? Someone needs to tell me the rules, damn it."

  Nara's fury rolled off her in big, black waves. If she'd held a stake, she would've gladly plunged it into my heart. Cradling her injured hand, she whirled and stalked off, muttering and cursing.

  "She's really nice," I said in a saccharine voice. "We should have her over for dinner some time."

  "Patrick," said Stan, his eyes round with worry. "Did you tell her—"

  "In time," said Patrick, his enigmatic gaze on mine. "Do you not find it interesting she performs the steps on pure instinct?"

  "Hmph," Stan huffed. "I'll meet you by the RV." He walked away, PDA in hand, the tapping of the stylus meeting screen beating a nervous tattoo.

  "I like her," said one of the tall males who remained in our circle. He had a Slavic accent… German, maybe. I gazed up at him and blinked. There were two of him.

  The men looked exactly the same—from the black leather vests and matching pants to their inky-black hair tied back with black leather thongs. They wore biker boots, too. In the belts around their waists were an assortment of lethal weapons, most of which were strange-looking blades and knives. They had the same yummy build as Patrick. I looked at their faces: chiseled jaws, eyes as green as jade, and necks the size of Greek columns.

  "Twins?" I asked.

  "Darrius and Drake at your service, liebling."

  "Really?" I asked. "Because I could think of all kinds of ways for you to serve me."

  "Jessica," said Patrick. "Do not say things like that to those two."

  "Do not worry, mein freund. We will not bite her. Too hard," said Darrius… or Drake. They grinned at each other, and then at me.

  There was something very different about them. Something strange. "You're not vampires."

  The twins grinned again, their lips curling with a touch of wickedness. "We are lycanthropes," said the one on the left. "We're shape-shifters, liebling. We are the wolf guardians for our vampire friends."

  "Vampires have used lycans to guard their crypts for centuries," said Patrick. "They're not immortal, but they live a long time."

  "The oldest recorded lycanthrope was one thousand and eighty-two," said the one on the right. "But most of us only live to our eight-hundreds."

  "Tough break," I said drolly. "So you're the muscle, eh?"

  "We compensate our lycans for their security expertise. The Consortium doesn't keep drones or guardians."

  "Yeah, I get it. The whole live-in-harmony thing." I looked at my Irish vamp and tried to do the sigh thing. It didn't work. "Okay. Gimme the bad news. What did I do to your neck?"

  "Later, love." A shadow flitted in his gaze then disappeared into the beguiling silver. Surely I imagined the combination of fear and of need. What could Patrick fear? And what could he want from me that caused such yearning?

  Truthfully, I'd been trying to avoid the gruesome task of IDing a dead girl. If she was a resident of Broken Heart, then chances were good I knew her. A year ago, we'd been a quaint, old-fashioned town of seven hundred and three residents. Nowadays, we had fewer than three hundred people who called Broken Heart home. My guts clenched.

  "Let's get this over with," I said, grabbing Patrick's hand. "Are the Bobbsey Twins coming, too?"

  "Bobbsey Twins?" they said together in a tone that suggested death and dismemberment.

  I laughed. Then, because I had a survival instinct, I broke into a run and took Patrick with me.

  Levity faded as we exited the gymnasium and walked across the parking lot to a very large white, windowless RV. On the far side, I saw Stan and several others waiting for us. Slowing my steps, I readied myself to see a dead body. Technically, I was dead but I was still walking and talking. My stomach roiled at the thought of seeing some poor lifeless girl.

  Patrick squeezed my hand, a silent show of tenderness, and nodded at Stan. He bent down and removed the white sheet that had been draped over the body.

  "Oh my God." I clapped a hand over my mouth as I looked, horrified, upon the ravaged remains of a young woman with red hair. Her body looked as if it had been mauled. Her yellow summer dress was shredded; she wore only one yellow flip-flop on a manicured foot. The despoiled state of her body contrasted with the pale serene quality of her untouched face. Her lips were blue; her eyes a faded unseeing green.

  "Jessica, do you know her?"

  "Yes," I said. I stumbled back and swallowed my wail of despair. "Is there any way to save her?"

  "Non, ma chère," said a handsome man with short black hair and sky-blue eyes. I remembered him from the Panel of Doom. What was his name? François something-or-other. He knelt at the woman's side, his fingers brushing away stray red strands from her face. "This one cannot be saved."

  "Who is she?" Patrick asked.

  "Emily," I whispered. "Emily Beauchamp."

  Patrick frowned, obviously trying to place the last name. I laid a hand on his arm. "Emily is Linda's sister."

  Chapter 6

  "What happened to her?" Linda cried, which was a hard thing to do when you couldn't shed tears.

  "We don't know," said Stan, patting Linda's hand. "But I promise you, we will find out."

  After we told Linda the bad news, she demanded to see her sister. By the time she'd gotten a glimpse of Emily, the girl had been redressed and laid out on a metal slab in a refrigerated truck. (No, I didn't ask why the Consortium had a refrigerated truck with metal slabs big enough for bodies.)

  Watching Linda's face as she recognized her sister was hell. She fell to her knees and pounded the truck metal flooring. Despite her vamp strength and tremendous grief, she didn't dent the floor. The Consortium knew how to construct things that wouldn't crush under a vamp's strength.

  Emily was Linda's only sister and the only family, other than her own daughter, she had left. She held Emily's small, cold hand and wailed. It was a good, long time before I was able to draw her away.

  Patrick, Stan, Linda, and I assembled in my living room and tried to make sense of why Emily was dead. Linda sat between Stan and me on the tan couch; Patrick stood near the fireplace with crossed arms and a closed expression.

  "Emily was a surprise baby," said Linda. "Mama nearly died when she found out she was pregnant at forty-six. Shoot, I was twenty years old, already married to that shit-eating prick Earl."

  Stan handed her a tissue from the box I kept on the coffee table. He realized right away it was a stupid move, but Linda seemed to appreciate the gesture. She plucked the tissue from his hand and held on to it.

  "My Marybeth was born when Emily was two. They grew up together, closer than sisters. Marybeth's birthday is next month. She's gonna be eighteen." Her lips lifted into a slight smile. "Emily is only twenty. Oh my God. Was. Emily was twenty." Linda lost it. She sobbed without the wet satisfaction of tears until her entire body shook. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and squeezed, heartbroken for her.

  After se
veral agonizing moments, Linda lifted her head. The tissue had turned into paper snow, fluttering to the floor as she twisted and ripped it. "Marybeth is all I got left. Mama's gone and now Emily, too. And I ain't even human anymore. What's gonna happen, Jessie, when I outlive my own child? And her children? And their children? It ain't right to be this way. It's unnatural. It's wrong."

  Her words were arrows of pain into my heart. I faced the same anguish with my own kids. With the rest of my family. All of us bitten by Lorćan and saved by the Consortium had the same problems. How could you be an immortal parent with mortal children? How did you cope with outliving those you loved?

  My gaze sought Patrick's, but emptiness glittered in his eyes. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I doubted he'd give me the answers I wanted to hear. I wondered who he'd lost when he was Turned. Had he been a father? He'd certainly been a son. Maybe a brother. A husband. A friend. What happened to your heart when it had to bear witness to the deaths of mortals, especially those who loved you and whom you loved?

  Linda's gaze followed mine. In that instant, her grief hit a flash point. Her distress melted to rage. She rose on shaky legs and pointed an accusing finger at Patrick. "This is your fault. You and your soulless vampires have damned all of us."

  "Would you rather be dead?" asked Patrick coldly. "Would you rather your darlin' Marybeth speak prayers over your grave? If she didn't have you, she would have no one."

  "If you had kept control of that creature, we'd all still be breathing. Don't you think for a second I'm gonna be grateful you saved my life when you and the Consortium are the reason I lost it. And now that thing has killed my baby sister!"

  "Lorćan did not do this," said Patrick. "He would never murder an innocent."

  "Bullshit!" screamed Linda.

  Patrick looked as if he'd been slapped.

  I nibbled on my lower lip. "You don't know that it wasn't Lorćan."

  Stan and Patrick exchanged a look. Goddamn it. I hated when men did that wink-wink, nudge-nudge crap.

  "Mrs. Matthews, I explained to you earlier that Lor changed into something unexpected. He escaped because he was hungry. And he fed until he was full."