Vulture’s Kiss

by E. M. Whittaker

  Fantastical.

  Eisen sounded like a cheesy Hallmark sympathy card.

  “If you like this girl—which it sounds like you do—then be honest with her. Don’t blindside her with this. You two looked so cute together.” She gave him a teasing grin. “I think she’s got the stones to handle our shady underworld and your dreaded vampiric side.”

  He leaned toward her. “What are you planning?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Edith—”

  “I’d rather discuss this with her.”

  “You’ll trick Evie.”

  She jerked her head back. “I’d never do such a thing. She has something of value … like you. Once I get her to agree, then we can talk business between us.”

  He almost cheered.

  Almost.

  “Also, thank you for helping me last night. Arnold and I patched things up between us at the hospital.”

  His mouth went dry. “You’re welcome.”

  “You boys are sure sentimental. You know how to make someone feel special.”

  Tell that to Evelyn.

  She’d rather sucker punch Hector.

  “Perhaps I should go get her.” Louis rose from the couch. “She might be open to talking with you.”

  Hector moaned, jumping up to block him. “You told me no.”

  “You didn’t apologize like a good kitty.”

  The shifter hissed.

  “Keep it up and I’ll call Porscha. I’ll tell her your address this time.”

  Footsteps shuffled into the living room.

  Morgan walked in with a silver tray of drinks and snacks.

  “I’ll check on Lady Evelyn, sir.” He sat the tray on the table. “There’s enough cheese and crackers until dinner arrives. I ordered pizza since Mr. Irving came for supper.”

  Louis nodded. “Thank you.”

  The butler bowed, then excused himself.

  One day, Morgan would call Hector by his first name. The man lived at the mansion whenever he didn’t have a date or overwork himself at the office. He came over for dinner at least three days a week. Almost ate all his groceries, too. Hector paid for them, but that wasn’t the point. His butler and his boss should be on a first name basis.

  Someday, they would be.

  “I guess Morgan thought of everything except bringing me more wine.” Eisen reached for the snacks. “This will do until he brings her downstairs.”

  Thank God.

  He paid good money for his wine. Regular alcohol upset his stomach. At least he could feign drunkenness with Wildhaven. It warmed his belly. Sent a pleasant tingle through his body. If she drank through his stash, people would catch onto his ruse. Ask him questions.

  Louis swished his drink inside his glass.

  He’d rather deal with drunken Hector over Eisen’s bullshit.

  He bit his cheek, then sipped on his wine. For once, he hoped Morgan couldn’t wake Evelyn. If she did wake, Louis hoped she had the good sense to stay in bed. If his vampiric butler brought her downstairs, he’d stake him.

  Otherwise, he couldn't protect her from Eisen.

  * * *

  When Evelyn woke up, two things caught her attention.

  First, she slept on fluffy, down pillows. They weren’t her normal flat pillows she’d crushed to death from years of abuse. All six pillows were comfortable. Delightful. Just like the thick comforter covering her and the satin sheets she laid on.

  Louis didn’t shop at Amazon or Walmart.

  No, these bad boys bordered on Target or Bed Bath and Beyond material because of their durability. Walmart comforters didn’t do shit. They never did. She bought one and six months later, the stitching frayed. Then she bought another one. No one should ever bargain shop for their comforters.

  She’d have to take her own advice.

  The second detail about waking up comforted her: the woodsy and citrus smell that lingered on the comforter. These scents belonged to a man. One who wasn’t afraid to take charge.

  She sniffed the sheets again.

  Why did a half-vampire wear cologne with these fragrances?

  Also, how did he wear cologne in the first place? Every shifter she knew hated chemicals and perfume. Jem didn’t, but her boyfriend always threw away her cheap body sprays. Claimed they clogged his nose. Still, Louis smelled alive, not dead.

  Evelyn gasped.

  Suddenly, his interest in the cologne business made sense.

  If he made cologne which hid his natural—and quite undead—scent, then he’d become a millionaire in no time. Plenty of vampires walked the Earth. At least, according to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Supernatural, anyway. Vampires had to hide their natural scent.

  She stretched, careful of her injured shoulder.

  Her mysterious businessman had slipped away.

  Earlier, she fell asleep to Louis typing on his laptop. He swore at it, but his voice lulled her back to sleep. At least he stayed with her last night. She didn’t remember much with her killer headache. As she awakened, bits and pieces of the previous night came back to her.

  An awkward bath.

  Bitter tasting medication.

  Tiny bites of brie cheese and Ritz crackers.

  The Turner Classic Movies channel.

  Those warm fuzzy moments made her snuggle into the comforter when someone knocked at the door and let themselves in.

  Evelyn jumped up, holding the blankets close to her chest.

  She jarred her shoulder, then winced.

  “There’s no need to be frightened.” Morgan’s voice greeted her at the door. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Mistress Rodriguez.”

  No. He didn't scare her. She wore nothing from the waist down.

  No pressure there.

  “Master Louis is downstairs, but I should warn you … he’s entertaining a rather temperamental businesswoman.” He came to her side. “She wants to speak with you. However, I’m not sure you’re well enough to receive company.”

  Evelyn propped a pillow up against her back. “Do I have a choice?”

  He extended his hand to her. “No. I could give you time to freshen up.”

  Not a lot of wiggle room there.

  “Where are my clothes?” She took his hand. “I need suitable clothes to address this woman.”

  Morgan guided her toward the closet. “The maid threw them away. Master Louis ordered something more suitable for you. Part of his apology for the events that transpired last night, I suppose.”

  Evelyn pushed a finger against his nose. “You must be the stuffy vampire.”

  He swatted her hand away. “I must talk to the master about keeping our secrets better.”

  She patted his back. “Relax. I know what species your master is, too.”

  “He shouldn’t tell anyone about—”

  “Hector told me, not him.”

  The butler clasped his hands together. “I see. Perhaps I should have a private conversation with Mr. Irving later.”

  Aw. How adorable.

  Louis had his own loyal butler like Batman.

  “Anyway, this dress is yours.” Morgan handed her a black short sleeve Chinese dress decorated with a cherry blossom pattern. “I suggest wearing this when you go downstairs.”

  This? No. This dress showed a lot of leg. It stopped its open slit at her thigh. She liked feeling sexy, but she wanted to have a conversation with him, not foreplay.

  This would give Louis the wrong idea.

  Besides, she wasn’t ready for company. Her headache hadn’t subsided. The nausea quieted down, but the vertigo and exploding pain behind her eyes remained.

  She grabbed onto the door to keep herself steady.

  How was she supposed to entertain someone like this?

  “I wish I had my clothes.” Evelyn unbuttoned the back collar. “And for this horrendous nightmare to end. There’s no way I’m—”

  “Your clothes got ruined.” Morgan adopted a stern tone. “You cannot impress someone by wearing bloodstaine
d material. Besides, blood is dangerous around him. You know this.”

  Of course. She forgot about that detail.

  “Now, please change into the dress and head downstairs. Supper should arrive soon.”

  She clutched the dress. “Please tell me it’s something low-key.”

  “Of course. Pizza is as low-key as Master Louis gets.” Amusement carried in the butler’s voice. “Mr. Irving has quite the appetite, you know. Hurry up, though. She’s eager to meet you.”

  Wait a minute. He expected her to entertain guests with a shiner for a left eye?

  No.

  Absolutely not.

  “Not like this.” She lowered her head. “Between Marco and Hector, I got beat up pretty hard yesterday. This would embarrass your master for sure. Plus, I’m pretty sure the room doesn’t spin, but I’m losing my balance whenever I walk.”

  “Lady Eisen understands.”

  Lord help her.

  Hector mentioned her name yesterday. She ended up in the hospital, right? Shouldn’t she rest instead of chasing her across Charm City? Why would she visit her, anyway? The insurance company would pay her hospital bills while jacking up her monthly premium.

  Then again, she didn’t need it anymore.

  The Audi got totaled.

  “Chin up.” Morgan lifted her chin with two cold fingers. “The master is downstairs as well. I’ll call Sophia to help you look beautiful. She knows the master’s tastes.”

  “I need foundation, lipstick, and mascara.” Her words came out as a whisper. “Not maids. Not room service. Not … whatever this is. I’m used to applying my own makeup and just winging it, I guess.”

  He took her hand. “I understand, but I’m afraid I must insist. You’re injured.”

  She wiggled her good arm. “I’m not a cripple, you know.”

  “You’ll need help.” Morgan headed toward the main doorway. “You can’t dress yourself one-handed. Sophia will arrive in a few minutes. Please, wait here.”

  He hurried out of the room.

  Her life turned into more than a mafia romance movie. This bordered toward The Godfather level. Between Hector the Underboss, and the mysterious woman downstairs, she didn’t know what to expect. Maybe Louis headed his own faction of vampire gangsters throughout Charm City.

  Anything was possible at this rate.

  “Lady Evelyn, please come out.” A woman’s melodic voice called from the bedroom door. “The master is eager to see you.”

  Lady? Please.

  She just turned twenty-eight two months ago.

  Evelyn bent down and grabbed two adorable black pumps. They had a flat heel. Perfect for a woman with balance issues.

  Perhaps she could walk downstairs after all.

  “Lady Evelyn, please.” The maid tapped on her shoulder. “We can’t keep the master waiting for too long.”

  Evelyn hugged the clothing close with one arm, then took the maid’s hand, following her back into the bedroom. She’d let Sophia doll her up as long as she covered up her shiner.

  She couldn’t let Louis’s expensive gift go to waste.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Evelyn hardly recognized the woman staring back at her in the bathroom mirror.

  Men always remarked on her natural beauty, but Sophia brought out her charming features while hiding her black eye. In fact, the foundation she used didn’t wipe off whenever she touched her face. This put the powdery stuff she used to shame. When she finished applying her make-up, Evelyn would find out the maker of her foundation, along with her marvelous lipstick.

  The lipstick—a rouge color—worked with the dress, but bordered toward hooker territory. In other words, Jemina’s flashy color palette whenever she dressed on a conservative note. She wore those PVC skirts and hooker heels whenever she went out with her best male friend and her werewolf to piss off her girlfriend. The shy bookworm didn’t belong in their group. Never did.

  Still, Jem delighted in Aviere’s misery.

  Evelyn shuddered.

  Dolling her up took twenty minutes, but she experienced another round of vertigo while wearing her pumps to the stairwell. After stumbling, she ditched them, and pressed her hands against the floor.

  The world had to stop spinning.

  “We can’t allow this to continue.” An older woman’s voice carried to the top of the stairs. “You know the price for my assistance, Louis.”

  Oh no. Not another shady business deal.

  She stormed down the stairs, holding onto the bannister beside her while her knees wobbled. Each uneasy step aggravated her headache, but she didn’t falter.

  Evelyn couldn’t. Not now.

  Her blasted vampire would get himself into trouble again.

  Hector snickered when she reached the last step, then waggled his eyebrows. “Nice to see you, dear.”

  Wonderful. Don Juan graced her with his presence. Any minute, he’d go on about her becoming the lioness of his weird pride again. No, harem. He had a goddamn harem. One day, Hector would pay a sizable amount in alimony and child support.

  If he didn’t already.

  She stopped at the second to last stair, basking at the size of her host’s living room. Small details came to life now that two rowdy children weren’t planning World War III here. A completed Where’s Waldo picture puzzle hung on the wall. An old-fashioned popcorn maker sat next to a tall antique cabinet. His plasma screen TV—the gem of his living room—displayed pictures clearer than the small thirty-two inch one inside his bedroom. Two consoles—a Wii U and a PS4—sat underneath the mounted TV stand.

  Someone had impeccable taste.

  The older woman Evelyn heard earlier rested on the recliner and propped up her feet. Then she smoked her pipe, raising an eyebrow at her.

  Man. Talk about relaxed but intimidating.

  She didn’t resemble a goombah, though.

  “Well, well.” Hector scratched his beard. “Classy dress.”

  “I appreciate the compliment.” Evelyn crooked her finger, beckoning him to come closer. “Now, be a gentleman and help me, please. I’m still unsteady on my feet.”

  He inched closer.

  She grabbed the collar of his shirt and popped two buttons when she pulled him close.

  “The next time you sucker punch me, you won’t have a prick to motorboat these girls, Mr. Hecty. You might get a date after you quit asking women if their breasts are made from silicone and date one woman at a time. Those would increase your odds at becoming a long-term boyfriend.”

  She released his shirt, held her forehead, and waited for another wave of vertigo to pass. A few seconds later, she fell forward.

  Hector grabbed her mid-fall.

  “Maybe I was wrong about you. You might be the right kind of broad for Louie.”

  Agitation seeped into her voice. “You’re the one who encouraged me to hook up with him.”

  His big hand covered her good shoulder. “It’s a shame you turned me down. I’d love to test those babies out.”

  “Hector.” Eisen’s commanding tone carried through the large living room. “Stop flirting and help her to the couch. I doubt she can walk on her own.”

  Evelyn straightened. “I can walk.”

  The shifter helped her to the couch.

  Whoever dyed Eisen’s hair picked a horrible color. The woman looked better as a brunette. Her natural color peaked from its roots. She needed a stylist, pronto.

  Whoever she used sucked.

  “I wish we met under better circumstances. I know you didn’t mean to hit my vehicle.” She examined her fingernail. “However, your insurance company will only cover the medical bills and fixing my vehicle. They won’t pay me for missing work for the next six weeks.”

  Evelyn turned to her. “Six weeks? Why?”

  “I broke four of my ribs when my airbag deployed, dear.”

  The short woman hunched her shoulders. “I see.”

  “I have an idea … a proposition if you will.” Eisen too
k a long drag from her pipe. “One you might find … suitable.”

  Ah, no. This lifestyle didn’t suit her.

  She wanted to go back to Vixens.

  Bad.

  “I’d rather let the insurance company handle this mess.” Evelyn stood up, holding onto the end of the couch. “I’m sorry you got hurt, la Señora.”

  “If you’re dating Louis, you must handle his business affairs at some point.”

  No, no, and no.

  They hadn’t even had their first official date yet.

  She stormed over to Eisen, resting her hands on the sides of the recliner. She locked her chin, ignoring the pain that emanated from her left eyeball.

  No one ordered her around. No one.

  This woman had some nerve.

  “Look, I met him two days ago.” Jesus, time flew. “We were talking about dating. But now, I’m not so sure. He hired thugs to bind and capture me. Not romantic if you ask me. Kind of a turn off, actually.”

  “While I agree…” Eisen pushed herself forward. “You stole something important to him.”

  “I wanted to make sure he kept his promise.” Evelyn brushed her bangs away from her eyes. “Louis broke the last one he made.”

  “Well, considering he saved you from being beaten to death by a shifter, I’d reconsider the idea.” Eisen’s finger trailed down her chin. “He might have something to teach you.”

  “Like what?”

  Her voice turned into a knowing drawl. “Oh, many things.”

  Evelyn leaned closer until her nose almost touched the other woman’s face. “Not a good answer. Now, who are you?”

  “Edith Eisen. Professional investor and the victim of an unfortunate accident. I’d hand you a business card, but I’m down to one arm.”

  The unsteady woman held herself up with shaky arms. “Charmed.”

  “You have spunk.” Eisen met her gaze, kicking the recliner back in place. “You have a delightful charisma about you. I think you’ll do a fine job once you accept my proposal.”

  “What proposal?”

  “To work for me.”

  She’d lost her goddamn mind.

  Vixens kept her busy enough.

  “I can’t.” Evelyn made sure to make eye contact with her before continuing. “I have my own business to run. I wouldn’t want to take on any more responsibilities and cost you money.”