Your Coffin or Mine?

by Kimberly Raye

  He pulled away just before the oh morphed into a yesss!

  I sagged against the table and tried to gather my wits. I’d almost swept them into a nice big pile, too, when I heard the cold voice that drifted from the doorway.

  “Well, well. Isn’t this sweet?”

  Thirty

  His name was Logan Drake and he was a born vampire.

  The first I knew because he said, “I’m so glad we’re finally getting the chance to meet, Miss Marchette. Logan Drake at your service.”

  The second I knew because his scent rushed at me, spiraling through my nostrils. I had an instant flashback to my childhood. Many a midnight I’d hidden in the cupboard to eavesdrop on the latest castle gossip while the human maids had gabbed and scarfed raisins and rice pudding.

  I know.

  I felt nauseous just thinking about it. Smelling it really made me want to blow chunks.

  Just for the record, I’d faced off with sadistic vampires on more than one occasion—all in the past few months, as a matter of fact. First, there’d been Super Scary Vamp who’d been kidnapping girls, turning them to vamps, and leaving them for dust once the sun came up. And then Ayala, a client and born vamp princess who’d blamed me for killing her werewolf lover (a long story). But this guy definitely topped my list of dangerous and psychotic night stalkers.

  Drake was tall, with dark hair that had been slicked back and dark brown eyes that tried to drill through me. He wore black slacks, a dark brown shirt, and enough hair gel to make even Mr. Weather look au natural. He looked as handsome as any other born vamp. Dazzling even, especially when he smiled. But his eyes were cold. Yeah, I know. That was classic vamp, too, but in a weird, twisted way that stirred a wave of dread instead of the usual Ugh, here we go again with the snotty pretentious bullshit.

  “I see you showed up just in time for dinner.” He stepped inside the room, his attention shifting, searching. “Where is our little friend? The leftovers, anyway.” Another sweeping gaze and his smile died. “He isn’t here.”

  “And the lightbulb goes off.”

  His gaze shifted back to me. “You got rid of him.”

  “I returned him.” My mind raced. “Um, that is, after I ripped him to shreds.” We’re talking dangerous and psychotic, which meant I needed to be equally dangerous and psychotic. At least he needed to think so, otherwise, I wasn’t going to make it out of here with Ty. “And then I ate his heart,” I added.

  He stared at me as if I’d declared myself a Democrat. (FYI: most born vamps are card-carrying Republicans.) His expression settled into a frown and he took another step into the room. And another.

  “Stop, or I’ll eat yours. I swear.”

  He smiled this time and fear rippled up and down my spine. Crazy, I know. While I’d never actually eaten an internal organ in my entire afterlife, I could have if I’d wanted to. I’m a mad, bad vampire, after all.

  I was little match for this guy. He was older. Ancient, judging by the deepness of his eyes and the confidence with which he faced me. I’d seen my father (more than eight hundred years old) face down his next-door neighbor Viola with the same look.

  Of course, he usually had a power tool in hand, or a gold club, or at least some heavy-duty weed killer. But you get the idea.

  “What do you say I rip out your heart?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And, of course, we’ll let Ty watch. Then again, he really isn’t in much shape for a show, so he’ll have to settle for a play-by-play commentary.”

  I spared a quick glance at Ty. The pasty white pallor of his skin had faded and slowly but surely his color was returning. But he was still bruised and battered, the welts raw and oozing. While he’d drunk his fill, he’d been starving for far too long to get his strength back any time soon. He needed to heal. To sleep.

  Uh-oh.

  Logan stepped toward me again and I inched away from Ty. He was still vulnerable, and I didn’t want Psycho Vamp freaking out and harming him when I was the one he really wanted.

  “First up, the powerful Logan Drake advances,” the vampire said as if he were doing commentary at a Knicks game. “He reaches out.”

  I sidestepped the hands that grabbed for me and whirled.

  “He advances again, going for the throat.”

  I ducked and twirled, stumbling in the process because he lunged again before I could get my footing.

  “She’s fast, boys, but Logan is faster. He goes for the arm.”

  I dodged his hand, which pushed me closer to the wall.

  “He goes for the throat again.”

  I ducked to avoid the hand. But while it passed overhead, his other hand moved in from below, catching my throat in a viselike grip. The pressure cut off my blood flow and everything went hazy as he slung me around and threw me toward the opposite wall. I slammed into the wall. Cement shattered and pieces flew. Before I could open my eyes, he reached for me again, grabbing, squeezing, throwing. He tossed me around like a rag doll several more times, his voice echoing through my head.

  “She’s weakening, folks. Soon Logan will go for the kill. He’ll rip out her jugular, feast on her blood. You hear that, Ty? She’ll die by my hand. I’ll take her from you just as you took Loralei from me.”

  Grab. Choke. Slam.

  Over and over.

  “I’m through playing,” Logan announced, his voice barely pushing past the pounding of my heart. “I’m going to rip her apart now and bathe in her blood.”

  Ick. I don’t think so.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the ick factor that spurred me on or the fact that I was pissed. Either way, I managed to gather my determination and get my knee up just as he reached for me again. I kicked him full in the stomach, sending him flying toward the opposite wall.

  Concrete flew as he hit and I struggled to my feet. I moved fast, flying across the room and landing another vicious kick to his middle before he could get back up.

  Yep, he was older, all right, which gave him the confidence advantage. But I was younger, with more to lose (my afterlife and a pair of sticky flip-flops that I was determined to salvage).

  He flew at me and I met him halfway. He chomped down on my arm and I twisted at his head, fighting him off as the blood spurted and sprayed my favorite pair of Chloe’s. Pain hit me hard and fast, but it was nothing compared to the anger. I was so pissed.

  We’re talking Chloe’s.

  A red haze washed over me, my fangs extended. My own hiss echoed through my head as I twisted him loose and shoved him backward. I lunged for his throat. My hands locked and tightened and I slammed him back against the concrete. I leaned in, his throat looming in front of me—

  “No!” Ty’s voice pushed past the thundering of my heart.

  I wasn’t sure what happened next. I just knew that one minute I was this close to sinking my fangs into Psycho Vamp and the next I was sprawled on my ass on the floor. Ty was on his feet, teetering in front of me, looking as if he might topple over at any moment.

  I saw a flash of black as Psycho Vamp did a quick disappearing act through the open doorway, and then it was just the two of us.

  My mind did a quick mental on what had almost happened—me plus Psycho Vamp equaled vicious murder—and a shudder ripped through me. I’d actually…I’d been about to…

  “It’s okay,” Ty murmured before he staggered to the side and slumped against the wall.

  A split-second later, Ash barreled through the doorway, his gun drawn. Hot on his heels were Zee and Moe, guns in hand. Several other men followed, a mix of vampires and weres.

  “Lil?” Ash knelt in front of me and reached for my arm, which gushed blood onto the cold, concrete floor.

  “He’s getting away,” I said, motioning toward the door.

  “Who?”

  “Born vamp,” I gasped, pain zigzagging through my head with each word. “Ty’s kidnapper.”

  “We didn’t see anybody. We just followed the noise.” Ash motioned to Zee. “Check it out.”

  Zee nodd
ed and headed through the door as Ash turned back to me. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”

  “I’m a vampire. I’m okay.” Or I would be once I got cleaned up and crawled into bed to sleep and heal. But Ty…I motioned toward the sagging bounty hunter. “Help him.”

  “We are.” Another nod and the handful of men surrounded Ty.

  I watched as they picked him up and started from the room. Panic bolted through me and I stepped forward. “Wait a second.”

  I reached Ty in less than a heartbeat and touched his bruised face. The questions swirled in my head. So many. Too many. “I don’t understand—,” I started, but he caught my hand and held tight.

  “I can’t do this right now,” he managed with thick lips. “But soon. I promise.”

  I nodded and started to move away, but he held tight to my hand, as if he never wanted to let go.

  As if.

  Nevertheless, his fingers stayed strong and firm around my own. His gaze held mine and I had the strange feeling that he was drawing strength from me in some way.

  “You did good,” he finally said, his eyes twinkling before he let go of my hand.

  I stepped back as the men closed in around Ty and then I turned to Ash. “Where are they taking him?” I finally asked.

  “Someplace safe.” Someplace where I obviously couldn’t go, judging by the closed expression that settled over Ash’s face. “He’ll be all right,” he added, confirming the suspicion that he wasn’t going to tell me where they were taking him. “We’ll get him patched up and debriefed and then he can contact you.”

  “What happened?”

  “From the looks of this place, you kicked some royal ass.”

  “I mean afterward.” Ty had stopped me. He’d saved his abductor for some reason that I couldn’t begin to understand. Not that I was complaining. I’d felt guilty enough when I’d accidentally pushed Killer off the couch yesterday. Ripping someone to shreds—even a bad someone—wasn’t something that would bode well for my conscience.

  “Why did he do it?” I asked. He gave me an odd look and I realized that he hadn’t even seen the psycho vamp, much less witnessed Ty’s interference.

  He touched my arm. “Do you want me to call someone? Your folks, maybe?”

  I grimaced. “I think I’m feeling miserable enough.”

  His warm chuckle slid over me and the pain subsided just a fraction. “I could give you a lift home?”

  “No, no. You go with Ty.” The last thing, the very last thing I wanted was to have Ash in my apartment when I wasn’t at my strongest. It had been during just such a weak moment that I’d fallen off the wagon and drank from Ty. I didn’t even want to think about what would happen to me if I took a bite out of a demon.

  “Not just any old demon,” he told me as he pushed to his feet, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve got seniority.”

  Thirty-one

  “So I told her to keep the damned thing because, of course, I can more than afford to buy a gross of chainsaws if I want to. My net worth far exceeds that of some lowly werewolf.”

  “He didn’t really say that to Viola, did he?” I asked my brother Max, who was parked next to me on the sofa.

  It was Sunday night, and my mother’s dinner party was in full swing. And so was my dad. He stood center stage, his favorite golf club in hand as he demonstrated his latest swing.

  Max shook his head. “Not to her face. He sent a letter via Hugo.” He pointed to a large, burly man who stood in the corner.

  Hugo Divine was my dad’s latest bodyguard/gopher. He was large and intimidating, with a wrinkled-up face, a green suit, and slicked-back hair: the human product of unprotected sex between Mrs. Shrek and Anthony Soprano.

  “It’s his new strategy,” Max went on, “to make Viola feel inferior and vulnerable so that she’ll crack under the pressure, give up the chainsaw, and worship at his feet.”

  “That sounds like the old strategy.”

  He shrugged. “You know Dad. He’s set in his ways.”

  At least my mother was (I never thought I’d say this) slowly evolving. She was (gulp) actually being decent, maybe a tad overconcerned.

  My gaze shifted from my father to my brother Jack, who sat in a nearby chair. He had his feet propped up, a glass of blood in his hand, while my mother fussed over him.

  He shifted in the chair and she signaled Sally, one of her housekeepers, who rushed forward to fluff Jack’s pillows.

  Note: I said evolving, not deranged. She saw no reason to lift her own fingers when she had a bevy of willing humans to do any lifting for her.

  Yep, she was definitely being decent. She hadn’t made even one derogatory remark to Mandy.

  Okay, so she hadn’t actually talked to Mandy because my soon-to-be sister-in-law had gotten stuck working a double shift at the morgue and Jack had arrived solo. But I felt fairly certain that Jacqueline Marchette would have kept her digs to herself.

  I’d been here all of forty-five minutes and she’d hardly spared me a glance, much less a When are you going to get a real job? or a Gruella DeMaurier has ninety-six grandchildren and I don’t have a measly one.

  She hadn’t even commented on my clothes. I had on a new crinkle chiffon Rebecca Taylor halter dress (I’d needed something to cheer me up after facing off with Psycho Vamp), python and leather Vivia sandals, and a Chan Luu beaded silk clutch. While I looked totally fab (as usual) and beyond reproach, my mother could always find something.

  Not tonight.

  My gaze shifted to Nina One, who stood in the far corner and laughed at something Rob had said. They were really hitting it off and I had a feeling, judging by the predatory light in Nina’s eyes, that they’d be trying out my parents’ hot tub before the clock struck midnight. Or the bedroom. Or the nearest closet.

  All in all, the dinner party I’d been dreading wasn’t turning out half bad.

  I should be happy.

  “Too bad Remy’s mother couldn’t make it,” Max remarked.

  Forget happy. I should be ecstatic.

  My attention shifted to Remy, who stood near my father and pretended unwavering interest in his latest golf swing. The police chief looked positively yummy in dark jeans, a gray henley, and tan loafers. His blond hair was mussed, his eyes twinkling. He smelled of soap and hunky male and nothing else. No raisins and rice pudding, or anything putridly sweet that could clash with my eau de cotton candy.

  We’d spent the past half hour talking about the local ins and outs of the department and my latest matchmaking coup. Word and Suze had hit it off and were planning date number two. I’d explained my Rachel the were-Chihuahua predicament and Remy, bless his undead heart, had actually given me the name of a male were-spaniel (who woulda thunk it?). The spaniel had recently given up a brief stint coaching Little League (he’d had a hell of a time during games, what with all those balls flying around) and had taken a city manager job. He was stable, nice, and ready to settle down with someone who could squeeze out a few puppies. Literally.

  Yep, Remy was a good vamp. A nice vamp. The perfect vamp. And I like him. He actually made my tummy tingle.

  Not the full-blown quivering that Ty produced, but enough to make me think maybe. Particularly since he was here and Ty wasn’t.

  Of course, that might not be Ty’s fault. It had been almost forty-eight hours since I’d found him. The wound on my arm had completely healed, but Ty might not be as far along in the healing process, which would explain, of course, why he hadn’t contacted me.

  I debated calling his cell for the umpteenth time, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

  I’m so glad you’re okay?

  I miss you?

  I like you?

  I hope you like me?

  I hope you don’t like me because then I can tell myself what a lying, stinking rat you are and devote myself to someone who might actually be able to give me a commitment ceremony, a honeymoon in Fiji, and a half dozen baby vamps?

  I shook away the nagging questions and
tried to concentrate on the words coming out of Max’s mouth. Something about his latest fight with a copy machine at Moe’s (my bro is totally hot and totally boring). I managed to nod and make it through the next ten minutes before I had to call it quits.

  I slipped outside, walked past the pool, and perched on the steps leading to a lush stretch of green grass and landscaped gardens.

  I debated making a run for it and heading back to Manhattan, but we still had to hunt and I so didn’t want to turn my mother from pampering parent to vengeful vamp. Better to go with the flow, count my good fortune that I was having a decent time, and make it through the rest of the evening.

  Pulling out my cell phone, I punched in Esther’s number to get a quick update on the wedding dress. She wasn’t in and I got her machine instead. I left a message and then punched in Evie’s number.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “I’m watching Dog the Bounty Hunter.”

  “Where’s a good episode of CSI: Miami when you really need it?”

  “Sorry.” Evie had no clue about Ty’s abduction. As far as she knew, he was a conceited jerk who’d had torrid sex with me and failed to call. “I didn’t mean to remind you.”

  “No big deal. Besides, I’ve got this new guy and I’m totally into him.”

  “You kiss him yet?”

  “We’re not that far along.”

  “Then you’re not totally into him.”

  “Says you. Listen, I was thinking that we could match up Gwen Rowley, that amateur photographer I told you about, with Mr. Weather.”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Weather was one of our clients.”

  “He isn’t, but Gwen is, and since she likes taking pictures and he likes getting his picture taken, I thought we could call and see if we could set something up.”

  “Why in the world would he ever agree to go on a date with one of our clients?”

  “Because I’ve got pictures.” I explained the fiasco of a date, minus the part about me being a vamp and spooking the horses, of course.

  “You’re evil.”

  “Yeah, well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Tell him I’ll give him the pictures if he agrees to a date.”