Fashionably Fanged: Book Eight, The Hot Damned Series

by Robyn Peterman

  “And Preparation H gets rid of puffiness under the eyes,” Jane reminded Martha.

  “Yep, I remember back in the day putting that stanky hemorrhoid elixir all over my body, wrapping myself in saran wrap and running ten miles so I’d look good in my skivvies for that cheating son of a bitch Herman. Found out he was popping Marge down the street so I tied his pecker in a knot.”

  “Really?” Astrid choked out on a strangled whisper.

  I elbowed Astrid in the gut. She was making a nightmare-inducing situation worse by encouraging them to keep going.

  “Nah,” Martha said with a chuckle. “But I did bend it to the left and super glued it together. Heard it took months and two surgeries to get that beef thermometer straight again.”

  “Served that two timing son of a bitch right,” Jane huffed. “I would have torn that giggle stick right off his skinny ass body and force fed it to Marge. You were kind.”

  Gareth and Ethan were pale and hunched over. I was wishing I could throw up, because my stomach was roiling. Astrid looked shell-shocked.

  After that story, they had to realize that taking the gals was a huge mistake.

  “Where did you learn all that stuff?” Astrid asked, smartly moving away from my active elbow.

  “The gluing the meat popsicle part or the other part?” Jane asked.

  “Other part,” Astrid amended quickly.

  “We were on the pageant circuit for years,” Martha chimed in. “Watch this.”

  She pulled a tube of blood red lipstick from the pocket of her gauchos and applied it with an extremely heavy hand. Her partner in crime, Jane, held her pointer finger in the air to demonstrate something. What? I had no clue. Martha smiled and looked like she’d just fed. Her teeth were smeared with the red substance. Horrifying.

  “Martha is a dumbass,” Jane explained as if she was teaching a class of preschoolers. “She forgot rule number one of the Pageant Academy.”

  Jane then took a tube of hot pink lipstick from her sagging cleavage and applied with an even heavier hand. Baby Jane Hudson had come to life. She then took her pointer finger and popped it in her mouth like a popsicle—or something worse if one’s mind was in the gutter—and pulled it out slowly. It was all kinds of wrong, yet morbidly fascinating. Jane grinned like an idiot—no lipstick on her teeth—or dentures. I wasn’t sure what exactly was in her mouth.

  “Suck the finger. Teeth will be spotless. Don’t suck the finger. Teeth will be fucking gross.”

  “Did either of you ever win?” Astrid asked.

  “Never, but our teeth were shiny and our keisters were always covered.”

  Her statement was met with silence. Everyone was busy trying to block visuals from their minds—at least I was.

  “It makes sense,” Astrid said much to my shock and everyone else’s in the room. “I know why Samuel wants them to go.”

  “I’m still reeling from what I just witnessed,” Gareth whispered as he fell into a chair and put his head in his hands.

  I had to agree.

  “How much do you know about being in a pageant?” Astrid questioned me.

  Damn her logic.

  “Nothing,” I admitted, recognizing her train of thought.

  She shrugged and laughed. “Bingo. The hazardous old dingbats know everything. Riddle solved.”

  Again there was silence while we digested the reality of what was to happen. Fine. They were going to go, but there were going to be rules.

  “You will follow my orders with no questions asked.” I crossed the room in a flash and planted myself in front of the now triumphant disasters.

  Gareth was on my heels. “One wrong move could get all of us turned to ash. This is a one strike and you’re out game. Do you understand?” His voice was soft, but his command was unmistakable.

  The gals were no longer smirking. They were bobbing their heads in respect and a healthy amount of fear.

  With the Vampyre version of a sigh, I gave the gals one last glance before I turned my attention back to Ethan. Time was ticking and we needed everything straight. “Has Roberto found Rachmiel?”

  We might not have to leave at all if the Angel was captured. Dealing with the particulars ahead of us meant I didn’t have to think about the confusing Gareth shit show and the alarming thoughts of how Martha and Jane could screw us up.

  “No. Apparently Rachmiel’s gone missing,” Ethan replied with growl of disgust. “However, Roberto now knows he’s the traitor. I’d say he’ll be in custody shortly.”

  “He’s aware he can’t kill him yet,” Gareth reminded his brother.

  Ethan nodded. “Yes. And he said he wants Vlad alive.”

  “We can’t guarantee that,” I said, knowing taking Vlad alive would be difficult.

  “Well, try,” Ethan said. “Very hard. We need him alive as well.”

  “Leila, Nathan and Alexander have been apprised too,” Astrid informed us. “They’re on their way to the Cressida House now.”

  Gareth stood and began to pace in agitation. “I don’t want my siblings as backup. They haven’t made a deal with the Devil. They will stay here.”

  Ethan nodded in agreement. “Exactly my plan. They won’t be pleased, but none of them are stupid.”

  “I’ll need to pack.” I stood and headed toward the door. Even though Martha and Jane knew the ins and outs of a pageant, I didn’t want them choosing my attire—booty shorts and feathers were not going to fly.

  “Already done,” Astrid assured me. “Packed you myself. You have everything you need.”

  That made me a little nervous, but not as nervous as if the old dummies had packed for me. While Astrid’s taste was impeccable, her idea of appropriate was a bit left of center. Whatever. She’d watched the Vampyre Network. Certainly she would know better than I would what was needed.

  “Is Venus going to need a talent?” Jane brought up a question I hadn’t even considered. “We can teach her a sexy little song and dance routine.”

  “What? I have to have a talent? I don’t have any talent other than ass kicking.”

  “Then you’ll be fine,” Ethan assured me. “The talent in this particular pageant is a fight demonstration.”

  “Thank God,” I muttered, getting more stressed by the second. “My focus will need to be on Claudia and Vlad.”

  “If he’s there,” Gareth added darkly.

  “If he’s not, you will leave immediately. We’ll go after Rachmiel. Oklahoma is in my Dominion. I’ve gotten word out to those I’ve put in charge of the area and trust enough not to have to kill. They are to let me know if Vlad shows up,” Ethan informed us.

  Even though Ethan was the Prince of all of the North American Dominion, the sections were governed by Vamps who reported to him. It was a tenuous situation at best since we were a violent bunch, but Ethan had an outstanding grip on his people—or at the very least they feared him enough to stay in line.

  “Who runs that section?” Astrid asked.

  “Sheena,” I replied with a small shudder. I didn’t like her much, but she had shown herself to be loyal to Ethan over the decades.

  “Difficult?” Gareth asked.

  “Prickly,” Ethan replied in a cold tone. “However, she owes me tremendously and she knows it. She won’t cross you or she’ll have to answer to me.”

  “Hear that, Jane? Shit’s getting serious,” Martha mumbled as she took Jane’s gnarled hand in her own and stepped to my side. “We’re gonna protect you and Spicy Boy there. You don’t worry bout nothing.”

  Astrid groaned. Gareth swore and I rotated my neck to alleviate the tension building there.

  Ethan kept whatever he was feeling to himself. “Pick a name, Gareth. Your identity has to be hidden. Keep it simple—something easily remembered.”

  “May I?” I requested with an evil little smirk on my lips. If we were walking into the face of possible death we may as well have a little fun.

  “Be my guest,” Gareth said, watching me with a raised brow that was
all kinds of hot.

  “Dickie.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was going to be amused or pissed. However, I couldn’t help myself.

  He laughed.

  Hard.

  “Dickie, it is. However, you shall pay for that,” he said easily with a sexy chuckle that made me get all squishy and uncomfortable—in a wildly inappropriate way.

  Shrugging him off, I stood and bowed to Astrid and Ethan. “Anything else, my liege?”

  “Your itineraries and all other info needed are packed with your things. You’ll be driving. It will be the least conspicuous. You’ve been registered under your name and your hotel reservations put you on the same floor as Claudia. The pageant starts tomorrow evening.”

  “Claudia?” Jane asked. “Someone we need to beat?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I replied coldly.

  “Hot damn,” Martha shouted. “This is gonna be frackin’ fun.”

  Perhaps it depended on your definition, but I agreed somewhat. Taking names, kicking ass, and saving the world was right up my alley. I just hoped I lived to tell the story.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are we there yet?” Jane grumbled from the back seat for the umpteenth time.

  “No,” Gareth snapped, gripping the wheel like he wanted to grip their necks. “And if you ask again, I will tie you to the roof of the car until we do get there.”

  The silver Mercedes SUV was sleek and powerful. Gareth handled it like he was meant to be behind the wheel. It was every kind of unnecessarily hot and stupid… and did I really just say it was hot? I was an idiot for letting my mind wander to forbidden and ridiculous scenarios.

  “Can we listen to music?” Jane suggested.

  “What kind?” Gareth asked, truly exasperated but trying tremendously hard.

  “David Hasselhoff’s greatest hits?”

  “Absolutely not,” he snapped, grinding his fangs.

  We’d already been put through two hours of Air Supply’s entire catalogue and some kind of ear splitting polka music. I had to agree that the Hoff’s collection would end in bloodshed—theirs.

  Flying would have been quicker, but it would have announced our arrival in a way that showed our hand. Flying was a skill that was rare. Not to mention the fact that Martha and Jane were novice flyers if you could even call what they did flying. It would have been awful and potentially very messy if they’d hit a telephone pole or a passing plane. The thought of having one of the old biddies strapped to my back all the way to Oklahoma was enough to make me love the long drive.

  We were about seven hours into the ten-hour trip and the old pains in the ass had complained most of the way. I was actually impressed with myself and Gareth that they were still alive.

  “So what’s the plan anyway?” Martha asked leaning over the seat and popping her wrinkly head in between us.

  “The plan is that you keep your mouth closed for the next three hours so I don’t have to remove it,” Gareth said tightly.

  “Sounds reasonable,” Martha agreed. “But I was talking about the actual mission—not the joy ride.

  “We’re winging it,” I told her.

  It was the truth. Not the best of plans, but we still weren’t sure if Vlad would be there. If he was truly obsessed with Claudia, he would be in attendance. I needed to get to her first and twist her arm—or neck—into helping us. Hell, we didn’t even know if she was aware of Vlad’s obsession. It would be hell not to kill her on sight, but Gareth and his sibling’s lives took precedent over my need for revenge. I would have my revenge, but not until she helped the man I… um, didn’t like all that much.

  What the hell was wrong with me? While the little needles under my skin that I’d felt right after Gareth had made the deal with Satan had calmed down, I still felt very left of center. I needed to get laid and not by Gareth. I was simply horny. That was all.

  “But we’re going for Vlad,” Martha persisted. “We want to capture him and not kill him?”

  “You will not be involved in that part,” I informed her. As much as I wanted to decapitate both her and Jane, I wasn’t going to let Vlad touch a sparse hair on their heads. I was beginning to understand Astrid’s reluctant affection for the old dorks. “You will help me with the pageant and stay out of the way.”

  “Just want to put it out there that I bit a bad Fairy in the ass,” Jane said with a not so humble shrug of pride. “I’d be happy to sink my fangs into that fucker’s ass if it would help.”

  “Is this an alternate Universe?” Gareth asked with a helpless look of horror on his beautiful face. “They’re going to get themselves killed.”

  “Listen to me, Dickie,” Jane said, patting him on the shoulder. “We should have been dust about forty-seven times already. We’re still here so that means we’re supposed to be. We are fully willing to bite asses and strip if necessary.”

  “Stripping is never necessary,” I hissed. “You will keep your clothing on or you’re going home now.”

  “Fine,” Jane huffed. “Don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

  There was blessed silence for about five minutes. I kept my eyes trained on the road ahead even though they wanted to stray to the Vampyre driving the powerful car. I never did get a satisfactory explanation from anyone as to why I could see through Gareth’s glamour, but it didn’t matter. It would make it easier for me to keep an eye on him.

  It had been decided that he would pose as my guard and the old gals as my chaperone and coach. Apparently on the pageant circuit one travelled with an entourage of sorts. The more I learned about the undead beauty contests, the more disgusted I became. There was cage fighting, a barely there bathing suit competition, another in evening gowns, and an interview.

  Nine times out of ten several contestants died—for real died—in the cage-fighting portion of the festivities. It was a sexist, barbaric, and royally screwed up form of entertainment.

  “We’re being followed,” Gareth said calmly, checking the rear view mirror.

  “Seriously?” I asked, glancing at the side view mirror.

  “Yep, for about ten miles. I’m going to turn off at the next exit and see if our guests would like to chat.”

  “No one outside of us, Ethan, Astrid, The Kev, Gemma and Satan know what we’re doing and only Astrid and Ethan know we’re driving,” I said, watching the sleek Porsche follow us through several lane changes.

  Checking my weapons, I turned back to the wide-eyed and very excited Martha and Jane. “You will stay in the car and get low. Do not come out of the car unless I call for you. Understand?”

  “Roger that,” Martha said arming herself with everything that could pass for a weapon in the car.

  Jane let her fangs drop and began to sharpen them with a metal file.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, watching her go to town on her teeth.

  “Sharpening up in case I need to bite some ass. I tell you, I’m really excellent at it.”

  “Me too,” Martha said, revving up a hand held drill and having at her own fangs.

  Speechless. They left me speechless. The only good thing was when they were sharpening their canines they couldn’t talk.

  “Open your window a bit and see if you can catch a scent,” Gareth directed as he swerved across three lanes and took the exit.

  Sure enough they followed.

  “Angels,” I said through clenched teeth. “Not my idea of a fun meet and greet.”

  “Chicken?” Gareth asked with amusement and a raised brow.

  “Take that back.” I laughed and punched him in the arm. “Very little scares me.”

  “I can think of something that scares you,” he said so softly I leaned in.

  Leaving that one alone, I turned back to the old gals again. “Angels are not the species to screw with. They make Trolls look like household pets. You will not bite them, lob weapons at them, or even make eye contact. Clear?”

  “You’re no fun at all,” Jane griped.

  “I beg to
disagree,” Gareth said. “And Venus is correct. If you make one false move with the heavenly bastards it will be your last.”

  “You think they work for Rachmiel?” I asked, feeling my adrenaline spike.

  “I’d put my money on Roberto. Roberto is aware we’re going after Vlad. They want Vlad alive for some reason. We’re collateral damage. My guess is they could care less if we live or die.”

  “Not very Christian of them,” Martha grunted.

  “Excellent point,” Gareth said flatly as he pulled into a deserted rest stop.

  “Wait,” I said, making a decision before I could really think it through. “Are you at full strength?”

  Gareth paused and stared straight ahead. “No, but I can handle an Angel or two.”

  “No one can handle an Angel or two,” I muttered with a humorless laugh. I rolled up my sleeve and pressed my wrist to his lips. “Drink.”

  “Are you hitting on me, Vampyre?” he asked as his eyes went green with desire.

  “Absolutely not,” I snapped. “Been there, done that. Not going back. Drink. I’m tough, but I’ve never gone up against an Angel. I need you at full strength for purely selfish reasons, Vampyre.”

  “Tis a pity.” Gareth grinned and winked at me as he ran his talented tongue from the center of my palm to the veins in my wrist.

  I’d fed him once before when we’d gone after a horrid and now very dead Vampyre named Spike. One of Gareth’s gifts was that he could call and go to his siblings from millions of miles away. Spike had taken on Astrid’s form and lured Ethan into a deadly trap. Gareth had transported a group of us to his brother. The effort it took left him close to death in his cursed state. And yes… I had fed him. I didn’t regret it then and I wouldn’t regret it now. I would do it for anyone who I was fighting along side with.

  “Drink,” I ordered.

  “As you wish.”

  His fangs sunk easily into my offered wrist and a burst of color shot across my vision.