by Amira Rain
Setting my glass of lemonade on the island, I smiled. “So…not to be nosy, but what you said about all vampires in the community getting a salary for keeping everyone safe. What did you mean by that, if you don’t mind my asking? Who pays the salaries, and who’s the ‘everyone’ that is kept safe in return?”
Dropping his gaze to the island briefly before returning it to my face, Mark said he didn’t mind my asking, but that it was all very complicated. “In short, ‘everyone’ is everyone in Sweetwater and the surrounding southern Michigan area; and as to who pays our salaries, I guess you could say we have a ‘governing body’ of sorts. And they get their money in many different ways, although mostly investment yields, from what I’ve been able to gather over the years.”
I wondered if he was talking about a “governing body” that governed all Watchers or something, but before I could ask, Mark changed the subject back to the Ice Creamery, asking if I might want to help out as an employee on opening day of the summer season in exchange for some spending money and “all the ice cream a pregnant young lady could possibly want to eat.”
Smiling, I told him I’d love to, thinking that maybe he’d so abruptly changed the subject because he didn’t want me to know too much about the Watchers yet, or their “governing body,” just in case I fled from the farm and rejoined regular non-vampire society or something. Not that that was even a thought in my mind at present. For one thing, I had no home to return to, and for another thing, I wanted to live a life free from being run off the road by murderous Warren lunatics.
Mark and I talked about a few other different things, but presently, he said that he had a “brunch date” with his girlfriend Carol, at a restaurant in Sweetwater.
I wished him good luck. “Jen has told me all about how much vampires just love to eat regular human food.”
With his lips twitching with amusement, Mark gave his eyes a little roll. “Oh, I don’t even know if love is a strong enough word. Choking down oatmeal that tastes exactly like bits of wet newspaper…waffles that may as well be cardboard…this brunch will be the highlight of my day, I’m sure. I have to pretend to enjoy food, though, or at least require it, because Carol doesn’t yet know who and what I truly am. So, I have to keep up the charade for the time being, until it feels right to tell her.”
I said I understood, and Mark got up, grabbed a set of keys from the island, and then hesitated for a moment or two, seeming as if he was deciding something, before speaking.
“By the way, Sydney…you said something earlier, and I just want to tell you the truth. I’m not exactly the head of this family. Maybe I’m the ‘head dad,’ but I’m not the head of this family in all ways, anyway. See, my wife was killed a couple of years ago, and not long after that, Hayden’s father, my brother Declan, was killed. I went through a lot during this time, and I went through…some things, and….”
With his gaze on the island and not on me, Mark raked a hand through his dark hair, reminding me of Hayden, before speaking again. “Anyway. It soon became clear to me that this family needed the strongest leader possible in order to keep going and not fracture…and when I say ‘strongest,’ I mean strongest in all possible ways…mentally, emotionally, and physically.”
Pausing, Mark finally lifted his gaze to my face. “Because of this, I ultimately decided that it was best for me to pass the reins to Hayden, not that I ever really held them in the first place. His father was always the head of this family.”
“By ‘family,’ do you mean ‘MacGregor family,’ specifically, or the whole ‘Watcher family’ that lives on this farm?”
By a slight lift of his dark brows, I could tell Mark was surprised that I already knew about the “Watcher family,” and I told him that Jen had told me.
“She didn’t tell me exactly what Watchers are, though, or what they do. So, I’m still in the dark about all that.”
Glancing at a clock adjacent to the stove, Mark said that he’d be glad to tell me some time, but that at the moment, he really had to run. “Or, maybe Hayden can fill you in if you’re really curious and don’t want to wait for me to explain things.”
I sighed quietly, letting my gaze drop to my glass of lemonade. “I don’t even know if he and I are speaking right now. I really don’t know what’s going on between us.”
Just then, as if he’d been summoned, Hayden walked in through the front door at the other end of the kitchen, frowning when he saw me.
CHAPTER 12
Mark soon left, making me cringe inwardly, because his absence left me alone in the kitchen with Hayden. And I had no clue what to say to him. I didn’t even have a clue what I was really feeling about him, or how I wanted him to feel about me. I only knew one thing for certain, which was that I was attracted to him on a level that I’d never been attracted to any guy before. From his blue eyes to his full lips to his broad shoulders to pretty much everything else about him, I just found him irresistible.
I didn’t just find him attractive on a physical level, though. It was something more than that. It was the way he moved, purposeful and confident. It was also the sound of his deep voice, and the feel of his arms around me. There was also the matter of how he’d wanted to make sure that I had a cake on my birthday.
This small gesture had done something to my heart, and I couldn’t think of any more articulate way to think of it than that. The gesture had simply done something to my heart. What that “something” was, and how it would affect my interactions with Hayden, of course would remain to be seen.
You’re insane, Sydney, I thought while I took a quick look at him from beneath my lashes, while pretending to be very interested in my lemonade. He’s killed two people in the past twenty-four hours, and yet you’ve let him get to your heart. Completely nuts. Granted, those two people had apparently both been vampires intent on killing me, but the fact remained. Hayden was a killer.
A monster, as I recalled calling him, although I now knew that that label wasn’t fair. Monsters killed for the thrill of it and some sense of sick gratification, and I knew in my gut that that wasn’t why Hayden killed. Even still, though, he himself had agreed that he was something of a monster. I supposed only time would tell if that were true or not.
Somewhat to my disappointment, after washing his hands at the sink, Hayden strode through the kitchen not only without speaking to me, but without even looking at me. Recalling that the last thing I’d told him was that I wanted to be left alone, I figured I now deserved the silent treatment.
I didn’t even know why I was somewhat disappointed that he didn’t talk to me or look at me anyway. After all, I’d been telling the complete truth when I’d told Mark that I really didn’t know what was going on between Hayden and me. I really didn’t even know precisely what I wanted him to say to me, and I didn’t know what I wanted to say to him.
Maybe a tiny part of me just wanted to tell him that I thought it was possible that I could grow to accept the fact that I was pregnant, and maybe even be happy about it. Maybe a tiny part of me wanted him to say basically the same thing to me, but even before I said it to him. I really didn’t know.
Not ten seconds after Hayden had left the kitchen, Jen strolled in, sleepy-eyed, still in her pajamas. Adjusting a sloppy high ponytail on top of her head, she had a seat across from me at the island. “So, what’s up with Hayden? He had blood all over his shirt. Did he kill someone again today?”
I sighed, giving my head a little shake. “Don’t ask.”
Jen said okay, then glanced behind her, at the fridge. “Hey, is there any of our food left? I think I’m ready for a second breakfast.”
Stunningly, because I’d eaten so much earlier, not to mention that I’d recently witnessed a gruesome, stomach-churning killing, I found that I was ready for a “second breakfast,” too. With a vague sense of alarm, I wondered if I might be carrying twins.
That afternoon, Jen and I decided to go grocery shopping in Sweetwater, to save her dad the trouble. I offered to driv
e us in my car, which Trevor had driven to the house the previous day, but Jen insisted that because I was pregnant, I should sit back, relax, and let her do the driving.
I said okay, although maybe a bit hesitantly, because I just kind of had to wonder about her driving skills, since she was so carefree and childlike in many different ways. Nonetheless, I got in her car, which was a fairly new white Mustang, figuring that if Mark allowed her to drive on her own, she probably couldn’t be horribly reckless.
Buckling my seatbelt right away, I glanced over at her. “So, your dad doesn’t even let you use matches, but he lets you drive a car?”
Buckling her own seatbelt, Jen nodded. “Yup. I’m a super good driver. I’m a much better driver than I am a reader, or a responsible fire-starting person. I’ve even had less driving tickets than Mel. She’s had exactly one, and I’ve had exactly zero. And actually, I’ve had exactly negative one tickets even, because one time I parallel parked outside a flower shop, and I did it really good, and there was a cop inside, and he said what a great parallel parking job I’d done. So that even dropped me to exactly negative one tickets because a cop gave me a praise.”
All this sounded pretty promising, and I allowed myself to relax a little as we set out down the long dirt lane that led to US-12, which ran straight through Sweetwater.
It wasn’t long before Jen had me convinced that despite her typically carefree, childlike kind of personality, she actually was a really good driver. She kept her eyes on the road consistently, except for quick glances at me, or Wanted, who was in the back seat with his head out the window, or at the speedometer. She actually even glanced at the speedometer more frequently than I usually did, which was saying something, since I was a pretty careful driver myself.
And anytime Jen noticed that her speed was a mile or two above the speed limit, she immediately slowed just slightly, just enough to put her right smack on the speed limit once again. Maybe the third or fourth time she did this, I finally learned what was behind her conscientiousness in driving.
Glancing over at me, she said that she could just put the car in cruise control. “My dad taught me how and all that…but I just never want to, because I like the challenge of having to be a good driver all on my own. I like the challenge of being so much better at it than Mel. And the challenge of having to force myself to stay that way.”
Suppressing a little smile, I figured that I probably should have guessed that Jen’s stellar driving was the result of some competition, or perceived competition, between her and Mel.
“See, Mel got her first ticket literally the week we got our driver licenses…and right away, that made me a more talented driver than her. A more gifted driver, even. My dad even said this to me at the time. He said, ‘You’re now the best driver of you two twins, Jen. You’re the more gifted one, just like how Mel is so gifted at schoolwork, and her painting, and all that other dumb, boring junk she’s into.’”
“Did your dad really call her interests ‘dumb, boring junk?’”
Jen sighed. “Oh, pretty much. He’d never say it out loud, but I know I can’t be the only one in the house who thinks that all the stuff Mel is into is just so dumb and boring sometimes. But, anyway…so, then after he said that I’m so much more of a gifted driver than Mel, my dad was like, ‘Now you just have to keep on being more gifted at driving than she is.
You always have to keep your eyes on the road, and you always have to be paying attention to all the different little road signs around, and you always have to make sure there’s enough space between you and other cars, and you always have to make sure that you’re driving the speed limit.’
And I was just like, ‘Oh, all that will be no problem at all for a gifted driver like me, Dad.’ So, then I started driving on the very talented level that I do, and I kept on driving at the very talented level that I do, and I’ve probably gotten even more gifted at driving over time…and to be honest, I think Mel has only gotten worse.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, for example, last year, my dad saw some show about texting and driving, and he made me sign this little contract thing promising that I’ll never use my cell phone while driving, which I didn’t even do anyway. He didn’t make Mel sign a contract, though, and I think it was because my dad knows that her driving has gotten even worse since her ticket, and that she’s just going to keep on getting worse no matter what.
So, he didn’t even bother drawing up a special contract for her. She said the reason he didn’t was probably because he trusts in her responsibility and junk so much that he probably would have felt like making her sign a contract would just be degrading to her or something, but…I think Mel and I both knew that was a lie she invented just to make herself feel better. I was just like, ‘Just keep telling yourself that that’s the reason you didn’t get to sign a special contract, Mel.’ And she was just like, ‘Oh, I will.’”
Sweetwater was a pretty little town of about fourteen thousand people, with a large lake on the northern outskirts, several manufacturing plants on the western outskirts, and various small parks and greenspaces full of flowers within the town almost anywhere a person looked.
There was also a nice little downtown with numerous restaurants, shops, cafes, and other businesses, including a glass-fronted independent bookstore that sold new and used books, old vinyl records, and “the best white chocolate caramel cappuccino in the entire world, and maybe even the entire planet,” according to Jen.
However, to her, the main attraction in Sweetwater was the Box-Mart, which was a little way beyond the downtown area. She said it was her favorite place to go not only because she could freely bring Wanted inside to go shopping, but because the Sweetwater Box-Mart also had a hot pretzel shop within the store, and Jen said that the hot pretzels sold there were “literally identical to the ones you can get in a big mall in a big city, like even New York City.”
Having skipped lunch on account of our two breakfasts, I took Jen up on her offer to buy me a hot pretzel, which I held in one hand while pushing our shopping cart with the other. Jen walked alongside me with the end of Wanted’s leash in her jeans pocket, because both her hands were full.
In her left, she held her hot pretzel, and in her right, she held a shallow cardboard box full of little cups of dipping sauces, including cheddar cheese, nacho cheese, cream cheese, jalapeno cheese, and chocolate. She hadn’t been able to decide which one she wanted most, so she’d just decided to get them all, asking the clerk for a spoon so that she could eat the warm chocolate sauce right out of the cup.
“I might even do the same with the other sauces if I can’t use ‘em all up with my pretzel,” she’d added, making clear that for being such a tiny, slender person with a wiry sort of build, she was certainly able to pack away a lot of food.
Once we’d eaten our pretzels and had filled the cart with groceries, she took the cart and led us over to the clothing section of the store. I asked her if she needed anything in particular that I could help her look for, and she said that we weren’t clothes shopping for her.
“Or you. Unless there’s anything else you need that I didn’t get last night.”
“Well, there’s not, but then, who are we buying clothes for?”
Glancing over at me with a grin, Jen began pushing the cart through the women’s section, heading toward the baby section. “I think it’s time we start spoiling your baby, starting with its first pair of baby booties. What do you think?”
Smiling, I suddenly realized that I kind of liked the idea of buying a pair of baby booties. I actually liked it a lot. And when I briefly imagined holding a baby of mine with tiny booties on its feet, I experienced a funny little thrill, becoming somewhat excited about the idea of a baby for the first time since I’d found out that I was pregnant.
Telling me that the booties would be a gift from “Aunt Jen,” Jen soon selected three different pairs, one white, one blue, and one pink. She then suggested that we buy some clothes, too, an
d maybe a few other things for the baby. “Then, when we get home, we can pick a bedroom for the baby and start filling up its dresser.”
Being that I wasn’t even yet two full months along, it seemed extremely soon to start setting up a nursery, although I found that I wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea. In fact, I turned out to be so not opposed that a short while later, I had the front of the cart filled with tiny sweaters, baby jeans, and knit caps, since the baby would be born in late autumn or early winter.
After telling Jen that this was probably more than enough to start the baby’s wardrobe with, we began leaving the baby section. However, I soon stopped the cart, spotting something that I immediately decided I wanted. The item was a tiny, pale yellow, newborn-sized onesie, with a big yellow star on the belly, and white lettering on the chest that said Daddy’s little star.
With a bit of moisture rising in my eyes for whatever strange reason, I lifted the onesie off the rack and put it in the cart, not knowing that in just a few days, this onesie would basically start World War Three between me and Hayden.
CHAPTER 13
While Jen drove us home from Sweetwater, I noticed a red pickup truck behind us that I was pretty sure had been behind us since we’d pulled out of the Box-Mart parking lot. Immediately a little concerned about possibly being followed by another murderous Warren, I told Jen about the truck, adding that I was almost positive that it was the same truck. “Do you think they could be following us?”
To my surprise, she laughed. “Of course, they’re following us. That’s Trevor and Sam, and behind them, in a different truck, is a man named Asher Westwood. He’s a super strong vampire who lives with his wife and little girl in one of the other houses on the farm. Him and Trevor and Sam have all been following us ever since we left the driveway, but you just didn’t notice it.
