Cross Your Heart

by Michele Bardsley

  I looked in my rearview mirror. “Who are you?” I whispered. “Where’s proper Elizabeth Silverstone Bretton?”

  I left before Tez witnessed my drooling—and encouraged me to do something about it. I had lust issues, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about my overwhelming attraction. I couldn’t recall ever imagining a lover falling into a vat of chocolate, which I then laved from him, ankles to lips. What about Tez inspired such fantastical thoughts?

  For a vampire with lack of body temperature, I felt unaccountably hot.

  I drove to my donor’s home, a five-bedroom ranch on Sanderson Street. Donors often shared domiciles since the turnover rate was so high; most spent limited time as vampire meals. Of course, humans who left Broken Heart had their memories wiped (and new memories implanted). Some stuck around for the long haul, though, and had homes of their own.

  Although some vampires preferred seeking out the same donors, I enjoyed the variety. I arrived at approximately the same time each evening and dined on whoever was available. Had I been given the choice to Turn or to die, I would’ve chosen Turning. Granted, there were sacrifices, but there were also wonderful benefits, and I embraced my vampire nature. Certainly, I sometimes thought about what life would’ve been like had I not become undead. In the more than five years since Henry’s death, if I had not become a vampire, what would I have done with my life? Despite Henry’s libidinous behavior, I did love him. We didn’t have the everlasting love I so often read about in my favorite books, but his passing did put my life into a tailspin. Maybe I would’ve traveled or found someone new to love or . . . well, the possibilities were many. But I couldn’t dwell on the life I didn’t get to have. I loved Broken Heart and its quirky residents, and I loved my vampire gifts. I did wish, however, that I had a larger purpose, a bigger role to fulfill in this world in which I now lived. But I had yet to figure what, exactly, would make me feel more useful.

  When I arrived at the donor house, Harold Panner met me at the door. He was in his forties with thinning blond hair and a slight paunch. He loved all variations of brown and beige, which frankly did nothing for his coloring. He needed more jeweled tones, more blue, green, or even purple. Harold had been a real estate agent in Tulsa who’d lost nearly everything—his job, his home, and his wife. He’d been on the precipice of suicide when Patrick O’Halloran found him and invited him to become a donor.

  I liked Harold. He was nice. We sat in the kitchen and talked for a little while. Then he shyly offered his neck, and I took my pint. Vampire saliva had a numbing agent to prevent pain, and healing properties to erase the marks left by our fangs.

  After the feeding was over, Harold walked me to the door. He shook my hand, his eyes bright—pleasure was often a residual effect of feeding—and we said our good-byes.

  “Elizabeth!” called a familiar voice. I paused on the sidewalk and looked down the street. My friends Jessica and Patrick live just a couple houses away. Patrick O’Halloran was the twin of Lorcan, the vampire who, crazed with the Taint, had killed me and ten others. Patrick and Lorcan were also the sons of Ruadan, the very first of our kind. Lorcan and Patrick had founded the Consortium more than five hundred years ago. However, the current leader of the organization was Ivan Taganov. He didn’t spend a lot of time in Broken Heart, partially because the woman he’d nearly mated with had fallen in love with someone else, and . . . well, I think he just didn’t like Broken Heart. However, he had to drop in every now and again since the majority of the Consortium’s work was done here. He was a big man, a little overwhelming in both looks and nature. He seemed to have perfected the scowl, too.

  Jessica waved at me, then continued to survey a deep gouge in her lawn. Curiosity got the better of me. I joined her and we studied the odd slash in her otherwise perfect yard. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jess. “It looks like a monster comma. I mean, did God reach down with a giant finger and make a punctuation mark in my grass?”

  “Perhaps Bryan . . . ?”

  “He’s in Stillwater. He’s got a girlfriend, and he wanted to spend the weekend with her.” Her tone held both worry and pride. Bryan knew how to keep our secrets, so the worry must be related to the fact her son was grown and dating. She was proud of him for going to college, but I got the impression she wasn’t quite ready to let go.

  Broken Heart had its own night school with one teacher, Eva O’Halloran. She was the town historian, and colibrarian of the substantial Consortium archives—duties that she shared with her husband, Lorcan (yes, that Lorcan). Since Broken Heart technically doesn’t exist, the Consortium set up an accredited online high school so children who graduate from their studies could attend college. Bryan had chosen to attend Oklahoma State University, OSU, and was working on a journalism degree.

  “Jenny wants a Vespa,” said Jessica. Her gaze narrowed. “Does that look Vespa-like to you? Like maybe a girl who didn’t know what the hell she was doing on a freaking Vespa spun through a perfectly landscaped yard?”

  I knew better than to answer such questions.

  “She’s fourteen,” I said. “Too young to drive around a scooter.”

  “She also has her stepfather wrapped around her pinky. And this is Broken Heart where rules for normal people don’t apply.” She rolled her eyes. Then she glanced at me. “Before I track down my family and solve the mystery of the lawn comma, tell me about the jaguar hottie.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that she already knew about Tez. The small-town grapevine worked even faster on a paranormal scale. I shrugged. “He was invited to town by the were-cat alpha.”

  “Why?”

  I blinked. I hadn’t even thought to ask Tez why he’d been invited. I had assumed he merely was interested in living among his own kind. But then, he hadn’t petitioned to live here. Hmm.

  “I don’t know. But Tez was in the woods behind my house. He saved me from an attacker.”

  “Attacker?” Jessica looked shocked. “Who the hell would want to hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t remember much.”

  “Wait. What were you doing out in the woods anyway?” She turned to fully face me, her expression filled with concern.

  I felt like I’d entered the conversation at the wrong end. I started over, explaining everything from the moment I received the odd little box, to the ghostly attack, to the female voice urging me to go to the woods—less than an hour before dawn. “I found her grave,” I summed up. “And dug her up.”

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “Holy freaking shit.”

  “The bones are old,” I said. “Damian thinks someone buried a dead relative in the woods. Or perhaps I uncovered a family cemetery.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No,” I said reluctantly. “I have no proof. Just . . . feelings. I think she was murdered, Jess.”

  “You gonna talk to Patsy?” She wiggled her fingers as if casting a spell. “She can kick any ghost’s ass.”

  I hoped that was true. I wasn’t too thrilled about facing the entity again. Being attacked by something unseen was terrifying—even for a vampire.

  “I’m definitely going to consult with Patsy. Right now, I need to meet up with Tez.”

  “Tez. That’s his name?” asked Jessica. One eyebrow winged upward. “Seriously?”

  I held up my palm. “Swear.”

  “Mo chroi.” Patrick hovered above us. Literally. As a vampire from the Family Ruadan, who were part Sidhe, or fairy, he had the ability to fly. He landed softly on the ground next to his wife.

  “Elizabeth,” he said in his Irish-tinted voice. “How are you?”

  “I’m very well,” I said. “And you?”

  “I’m—” His words stalled as he looked at his wife. Jessica sent him a sizzling look of fury, and his gaze slid guiltily to the mark in the lawn.

  “I’ll see you later,” I trilled. Then I hurried to my car.

  When I arrived at the Old Sass Café, I found Tez ensconced
in a booth with two vaguely familiar young women. Tez patted the seat next to him, his eyes gleaming. I had yet to determine what, exactly, made his eyes sparkle like that. Nothing good, I was sure. His werewolf-inflicted facial injuries had already healed. I slid in next to him, planting my large purse between us.

  “Good evening,” I said to the ladies. “I’m Elizabeth Bretton.”

  “Tawny,” said the red-haired vixen on the left. Her eyes glittered with challenge. She wore a low-cut blouse showing off perfect cleavage. She tossed a flirtatious grin at Tez. I slanted a look at him. He grinned. He was enjoying the attention. The man was such a . . . a hound. Oh, you know what I mean.

  “I’m Serri,” said the woman on the right. She was a brunette with gorgeous caramel highlights and a green gaze that was much friendlier. “We heard about Tez’s arrival and couldn’t wait to meet him.”

  “Turns out I’m very rare,” said Tez in a voice that was filled with innuendo.

  I resisted the urge to kick him in the ankle. Did he have to sound so I’ll-eat-you-up-my-pretty?

  “You should come meet the rest of the clan. After all, we”—Tawny tossed a glare in my direction—“are your kind.”

  “We’ve never met a jaguar,” said Serri, sending her friend a cutting look. “As far as any of the clans are aware, the were-jags died out long ago.”

  “Well, there was at least one around thirty-four years ago hanging out in the Mexican jungles,” said Tez.

  “And he mated with a human female?” asked Serri. Her and Tawny’s expressions both held disbelief.

  “Probably didn’t have much choice,” said Tez. “Especially if ol’ Pops was the last jag shifter.”

  “Human and were-cat unions don’t usually produce offspring,” said Serri skeptically. “At least none that I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Perhaps only were-jags can mate with humans.” I smiled at Tez. “Your mother must’ve been very special.”

  “Or just convenient.” Tez smiled back, but his attempt at levity didn’t take the edge off his bitter tone.

  I was taken aback. His paternal-inspired anger added a new layer to this man, who was flirtatious, sexy, dutiful, and far too macho. I wondered what it had been like for him growing up with a human mother, knowing that his father had abandoned her and the child she carried. Tez had his secrets . . . but didn’t we all?

  My cell rang. I plucked the iPhone from my purse and answered.

  “I heard you had a real interesting morning,” said Patsy. “Those dawn shenanigans can get you killed, you know.”

  “I’ll try to cut down on my aberrant behavior.”

  Tez’s hand snaked out and squeezed my thigh. I’d have to remember to use “aberrant behavior” in the future—and not just in conversation. I lightly slapped at his hand and he removed it, but I could still feel the lingering heat of his fingers. It was surely a phantom sensation because I was wearing pants and my undead flesh didn’t retain warmth.

  “Well, can you come on by?” asked Patsy. “And bring the cat man with you. I gotta show you something, Elizabeth. It’s some crazy shit, too.”

  “You’ve spoken to Damian?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’ll need you to lead him to the location of the . . . er, find. And if you got a ghost, I’ll talk to the bastard. But first, come by here.”

  “I’ll bring the box,” I said. “I think he’s attached to it somehow.”

  “Peachy. Like I don’t have enough assholes to deal with.” She blew out a breath. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I’ll take care of whoever’s bothering you.”

  “Thank you.” We said our good-byes. I looked at Tez. “That was Queen Patricia. She asked us to drop by. However, I have to return to the house before we see her.”

  “Okay. I’ll follow you out there.” He nodded toward his new friends. “Ladies.”

  “Calphon is hosting a welcome party for you so you can meet the clan,” said Tawny. “Do you need a place to stay? We have a very comfortable . . . couch.”

  Her gaze was all daggers as she stared at me. She cast a sultry look at Tez, and, I swear, she simpered. Goodness.

  “That’s sweet of you,” said Tez, “but I already have digs lined up.” He pulled out a couple of business cards and handed one to each of the women. “Look forward to meeting the rest of the cats.”

  Serri looked down at the card. “You’re a cop?”

  Surprised, I paused in gathering my purse and stared at Tez.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a homicide detective with the Tampa Police Department.” He looked at me with raised brows. “We leaving, or what?”

  I scooted out of the seat and Tez followed me. He put his hand on the small of my back, then smiled down at the were-cats. “Nice to meet you both.”

  “We’ll see you soon, Tez,” said Tawny.

  I gave them a little wave, then turned and headed out of the diner. I felt perplexed by my feelings. My jealousy was absurd! Tez could spend time with whomever he chose. And certainly any woman, particularly a cat shifter, would be interested in him.

  We stopped on the sidewalk. My Lexus was about three cars down from Tez’s Honda in the front parking area.

  “You’re a homicide detective?” I asked. “And you’re only thirty-four?”

  “Thirty-three,” he said. “And yeah, I’m with the murder squad. Only I’m on sabbatical.” He frowned at me. “Why the interest in my age?”

  If I hadn’t died at the age of forty-three, I would be celebrating my forty-eighth birthday in a couple of months. That would make me nearly fifteen years older than Tez. I could hardly see Patrick holding his four-thousand-years-plus against Jessica, so it wasn’t particularly fair for me to consider the years between me and Tez. Still, I felt old and I would’ve preferred to feel ageless . Damn. What was I doing even worrying about our age difference? It wasn’t as though we were, or would be, a couple.

  “You’re not doing that woman’s math in your head, are you?” he asked. “Vampires don’t age, so you can’t do addition.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking,” I said, mortified that he’d guessed at my thoughts.

  “Shit. You are doing math.” He shook his head, his lips quirking. “Whatever the problem is, you need to get over it, princess. ’Cause I’m not letting you being undead and me being a shifter get in the way of us.”

  “You’ve decided that, have you?”

  “God, I love that snotty tone.” He stepped closer, his gaze hot. “Yeah, I’ve decided. Now, you just need to decide, and we can move on.”

  “Are you aware that sleeping with a vampire basically means you’re married for the next century?”

  “Sleeping with,” he whispered, “or fucking?”

  His coarse language sent a dark thrill shooting through me. He knew it, too, because his lips pulled into that feral grin—the one that all but said he’d enjoy knocking over every obstacle I put in his way. For what? Sex? Well, I couldn’t have sex, not in the traditional ways—though, lovemaking certainly didn’t have to rely on penetration. Good Lord. I couldn’t believe I was even having these sorts of thoughts.

  Tez was corrupting me . . . and I liked it.

  “If you have intercourse with me,” I said, “then you’re my husband for the next hundred years. And you can’t have sex with anyone else, either.” I looked at him down my nose and pursed my lips, casting him a superior gaze. Jessica had once described this look as “snooty bitch.”

  “I so want to bend you over right now.”

  Shock nearly buckled my knees. “Tez!” I gaped at him. “Don’t you have a filter between your brain and your mouth?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t use it much. As for a hundred years of being hitched to you, I don’t see the down side.” He tweaked my nose. “But I guess you need time to think about it. C’mon, I’ll follow you to your house.”

  I was still flummoxed by his assertions—and his bold sexual statements. “I don’t need an escort.”

  “I know,” he said
. “You’re tough as nails, Ellie Bee. Still. I’ll park at your place. No reason for us to drive two cars to meet Queen What’s-her-face. Anyway, I need to stow my stuff.”

  “Stow your . . .” I trailed off and stared at him. “Where, exactly, are you staying in Broken Heart?”

  “With you.”

  “I don’t recall issuing an invitation.”

  “You don’t?” He reached for a loose curl and tugged on it. “It was in the woods last night. You know, when some wack-job tried to off you.”

  The way he played with the strand of hair made me feel tingly. I had the oddest impression that he planned to sweep me into his arms and kiss me. My stomach squeezed, and I found myself licking my lips—as though preparing for that kiss. His gaze wandered around my mouth, and I felt the blood rushing away from my head. (Except that I really had very little blood to rush.) Around Tez, I felt keenly off balance. The strange thing, however, was how much I enjoyed that sensation of free-falling.

  I cleared my throat, and plucked the curl from his blunt fingertips. I skewered him with another haughty look. “Are you saying that I don’t know how to protect myself?”

  “Nope. I’m saying, ain’t nobody gonna kill my girl.” He turned me around, aimed me toward my car, and patted my buttocks. “Meet you at the house, Ellie Bee.”

  For the love of heaven! How could this man’s chauvinistic behavior make me weak-kneed? It was such a primal response. I hadn’t felt in control of my emotions since I met Tez. Why not just live in a cave and wait for him to cudgel me with a club? Humph. Would I also cherish him dragging me along by my hair? I tried to feel offended, I really did. But those un-Elizabeth-like naughty thrills kept getting in the way. Whatever was I going to do about him?

  I glanced over my shoulder, but Tez was already sliding into his car. I heard him whistling and instantly recognized the Elvis song “Don’t Be Cruel.”

  We arrived at my house, and while Tez unloaded two duffels from the trunk of his car, I went inside. I unearthed a hatbox from my closet, layered it with tissue paper, and returned to the kitchen. The skull rested on its silk pillow, sadly regal, and I wondered again about to whom it belonged—and why she had wanted me to find her. As I placed the skull inside the hatbox, Tez walked into the kitchen with his gear and ambled toward the door that led to my bedroom.