by Maggie Shayne, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford
"He hasn't been staked yet, has he? He's in my bathtub right this second, isn't he?" she griped. "That's as much as a chance as I've ever given any dead guy."
"Undead."
"Same thing."
"You know that's not true." Actually, he didn't know—she was pretty firmly prejudiced in that idea. But she wasn't unreasonable. Just abrupt. And bitchy. And quietly furious all the time. He hated to think of the state of her stomach lining.
And lonely. Very, very lonely.
"He's sort of perfect for you."
She snorted and fluffed a pillow. "Maybe you should date him."
"His Jedi trick totally wore off already. I think of him solely as a tall, great-looking blond guy with the shoulder-length locks of a god and eyes the color of the Caribbean." Eddie frowned. That had sounded less gay in his head. "'Anyway. Here's a guy who's interesting, smart—whipped your ass in chess pretty good, didn't he?—challenging, cool, funny, and he would overlook your staking tendencies. Heck, he'd probably help you, if you wanted."
"I don't need—"
"Yeah, yeah, lone wolf, work alone, die alone, I get it. All's I'm saying is, you could do worse than Gregory. In this whole apartment, there aren't any pictures. It doesn't look like you have anything. No boyfriends, nothing of you, not even your parents. How do you live?"
She fluffed the pillow again. Actually, she punched it. He guessed she was imagining it was his head. "I have my work."
"Lame," he announced.
"I have plenty of things besides that!" she almost shouted. She "fluffed" the pillow by kicking it. "I live a rich and satisfying life, Eddie Batley!"
"Lame," he coughed into his fist. He supposed death was right around the corner, but unlike some people in the room, he really did feel he had lived a rich and satisfying life, and could go to his grave (after being beaten to death by an angry albino vampire slayer) a satisfied man. "So massively lame."
"Goddammit," she snarled, and stepped up on the sofa bed, walked across it, stepped down, grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, and mashed her lips to his.
"Eh?" he managed.
"Kiss me," she demanded, then mashed on him again.
"Let go, or I'll get my pepper spray," he mumbled around her lips. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her pretty mouth was against his, her long legs against his thighs.
It was mildly terrifying.
He got an elbow up in an attempt to fend her off. "Boo, I'm really super flattered, here. But I'm also kind of scared of you, which doesn't entirely do it for me."
"Shut up, Boy Blunder."
"See, calling me names isn't erotic." He managed to wrest his mouth free. "Not those kinds of names, anyway. Look, I'm out of my mind, okay? I mean, a woman as great-looking as you is never, ever going to throw herself at me ever again."
Despite the circumstances, she grinned a little. "That's probably true."
He resisted the urge to smell her hair. "But you're only molesting me because you'd rather be in the tub with him. And you're afraid to face it."
The grin vanished. She glared into his eyes. "I'm not afraid of anything."
He squashed the impulse to grab her boobs. "Prove it."
* * *
CH@%!*R 14
The bathroom door crashed open, and Gregory jumped. He'd long mastered the art of ignoring the input of his enhanced hearing, so as not to eavesdrop on people (unless he needed to, naturally). So he'd peripherally heard the two of them chatting and moving around, but beyond that hadn't paid much attention.
Ghost was framed in the doorway. She stepped into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door. He dropped the newspaper (and his jaw). This was it! She was going to kill him. Try, anyway. He wondered how best to fend her off without really hurting her. Maybe crack her hard enough in the jaw so she went down in one? Get an arm around her throat until she passed out from lack of oxygen? That might bruise her, assuming he wasn't coughing up splinters by then, but maybe she—
"I'm taking a poll," she said in a voice that shook. "If I stripped and tried to seduce you, you'd have sex with me, right?"
He blinked. Was it a trick question? Had to be. "Of course."
"Right! And it wouldn't be because I'm some pathetic loser, right?"
He was trying to process current events. "You're not pathetic. You're not a loser, either. And I'm not just saying that because you appear to be not killing me."
"Exactly!" she said triumphantly.
"Er—what's this about?"
"I'll tell you what it's about," she said, stabbing a finger in his direction. "We're going to date. Starting right now!"
"We are?" he gasped.
"Damned right!" She moved the rest of the way into the small room and climbed into the tub, falling on top of him when her grip slipped. If he'd had any breath, it would have whooshed out of his lungs. "If I kiss you, you're going to kiss me back, right?"
"Of course." Then he cupped the back of her skull in his hand and pressed his mouth to hers.
"M'not a loser," she muttered, and her mouth bloomed beneath his like a perfect white flower.
He sucked on her tongue, his hands busy at her shirt, and her hands were occupied, too, and they groped and wrestled in the supremely uncomfortable bathtub. He didn't especially care—he would have taken her in a rose garden, a swamp, a dead forest, a basement.
He got her shirt off, shredded her jeans, and pushed her bra up around her neck, as she clawed for his belt buckle. "Do not bite me," she said, chewing on his earlobe.
He gritted his teeth as her pale breasts filled his hands, her scent—daisies and Tide—filled his head. "That's… not going to be easy."
"Gregory. I couldn't handle that."
"All right."
"I mean it." Her hands were on him, stroking him with a feathery touch, and he groaned.
"All right, hon." Oh boy. Don't bite, don't bite.
"I'll make it worth your while," she whispered, her grip firming, her touch like rough silk.
"Yes," he said. "You will." He slipped a finger through her downy crease and found her damp, felt her squirm against him, and ground his teeth harder. Don't bite, don't bite, don't you dare bite.
She wiggled, her knees coming down on either side of him, and he put his arms around her and pressed on her lower back. Sliding into her was like gliding into a fantasy with sight and scent and sound. She moaned and rested her forehead on his shoulder, her white hair brushing his mouth.
"You're every dream I've ever had," he told her, and kissed her throat.
"My name is Boo," she said, and shivered against him.
He nuzzled her nipples and badly wanted to take one into his mouth, but was afraid he'd bite her… holding back was getting very difficult. But her squirming and gasping was delectable, and he felt his eyes roll back as he pulsed within her.
"Oh boy," he managed as she sprawled on top of him.
"I think I've bruised my elbows," she admitted, trying to sit up.
"You probably bruise like a peach."
She grinned down at him. "I've never heard it put quite like that before. And you're right."
"Want to show me?"
"Sure. But mostly," she admitted, "I want to get the hell out of this bathtub."
* * *
CH@%!*R 15
"Okay!" Eddie enthused when Boo came into the living room around two the next day. Gregory was still conked out in her bed—she'd rigged up some black blankets across the window before they'd gotten busy again—and super geek enthusiasm was a little tough to take first thing in the afternoon. "So, what? When's Gregory getting up? When do you want to leave? I assume you want to get there first, so Martigan can walk into your clever trap. Do you think I can take a piss? Will the G-man care? Will he notice?"
"Don't call him that, ugh." Then, "You haven't gone to the bathroom yet?"
"I can't do it if someone's watching," he whined.
"Well, he's not in there. I—I changed my mind and let him sleep under my bed." Th
ey'd crept across the hall so quietly the night before, Eddie had never woken up. Thank God.
"Oh." Eddie galloped past her, and she heard the door slam. She sighed and went into the kitchen for a glass of juice. One problem solved.
Several remained. What had she done? It hadn't been just to prove something to the Boy Blunder; she knew herself well enough to realize there was more to it than that. And she'd wanted Gregory—no doubt about that. Despite proof of his—his condition. Two hours ago, feeling morbid, she nevertheless couldn't resist taking his pulse as he… rested? Slumbered?
Eight per minute. Respiration: four.
She had heard the rumors over the years—that vampires weren't dead, it was a virus and you either caught it or you didn't. If you did catch it, your pulse and breathing slowed down permanently, you couldn't go out, your senses and reflexes improved, you couldn't tolerate solids. She had always dismissed it as vampire fantasy: "We're not the awful night creatures you think we are, we're sick."
Yeah.
Sure.
Whether it was true or not—and she was no scientist—Gregory was no—how would Eddie put it? "Ravenous member of the undead hell-horde."
She gulped more juice, remembering his hands on her, his cock in her, his mouth… his mouth. He had wanted to bite her. Badly. And hadn't, because she had asked him not to. That had touched her… had been enough to let her relax enough to reach orgasm, a very rare thing.
He'd been more careful the second time, and so had she, and they had ended up caressing each other and sliding together for a lovely long time. He'd chewed through her black puma pillow and mock-threatened to eat Eddie before they were done, and she found herself laughing in bed for the first time in… ever.
It was all rather strange and wonderful.
"Okay!" Eddie said again, coming back out. "Want to get a bite?"
"Sure, dumbass," she replied cheerfully. "I'll buy."
The bedroom door opened, and Gregory was stretching as he strolled through it. He opened his mouth, and she grabbed his shirt and arched up on tiptoe to hiss into his ear. "Don't say anything to Eddie."
Fortunately, the object of her concern was entranced by A Very Brady Christmas.
Gregory blinked at her. "What? Why not?"
"Because, okay?"
His blue eyes narrowed. "I'm your dirty little secret, is that it?"
"Yes, that's exactly it, now don't say anything."
"You were supposed to deny that."
"Well, I can't. Please, okay?"
"Mmm."
"We'll have to work that one out."
He still looked disgruntled, but sounded mildly encouraged. "All right."
"Okay, great." She forced the word out. "Thanks."
"I'm just a man, you know," he told her gently. "There's nothing special about me."
"Ha," she said, snuck a glance over her shoulder, then gave him a quick kiss.
* * *
CH@%!*R 16
"Okay, are we ready? We're ready." Eddie jogged in place. "My reflexes are razor sharp. Let's go kill a vampire! A bad one, I mean."
"Sounds like a plan," Gregory said, and punched him in the back of the neck. Eddie dropped like a rock into a pond.
"Oh, excellent," Boo said. "Grab his ankles."
"It's just that it's dangerous," Gregory said half-apologetically, picking Eddie up and placing him on the couch. After a moment, he tucked the remote into the snoring man's hand.
"Hey, you don't have to tell me. I was ready to tie him up."
"Oooh."
She gave him a look. "The last thing we need is him stumbling around in an alley babbling Buffy-isms while we're trying to flank Martigan."
"Agreed." He gazed at her. She was dressed in a black sweater, another pair of black leggings, and her hair was caught back with a black headband. She was checking her tote bag, and chewing gum. "Frankly, I'm not happy about you being there tonight."
She glanced up from her rummaging. "Is this the part where you're all annoying and overprotective?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"To quote the Boy Blunder: lame."
"Since he's unconscious…" He opened his arms.
She evaded his embrace, smiling regretfully. "First we kill the bad guy. Then we can have sex."
"Slave driver," he grumbled, following her out the door.
"So have you heard about the vampire queen?"
Boo was watching the crowd and tipped her head toward him. "I've heard… some things," she said carefully.
"Rumors, I suppose."
"It's as silly as vampirism being something you can catch, like the flu."
"It is something you can catch."
"Let's argue about it later. Besides, you're wrong. And I don't know whether what I've heard about Elizabeth The One is true or fantasy."
"There is something to that. I doubt she can endure sunlight and wear… religious icons."
"If it sounds like she's becoming a problem, I'll go out to the Cities to kill her. I've been watching the local papers… there hasn't been a sudden increase of missing people. The crime rates are essentially unchanged."
"I doubt it will be as cut-and-dried as that. She overthrew what's-his-name… Nostro. Killed him and took the throne."
"What are you saying?" She was afraid to look away from the milling adults and children, afraid to look him in the eyes.
"I'm saying if she becomes a problem, I'll go out there with you."
"Well." I work alone. Don't bother. Butt out. That's so sweet of you. I loved having you in my bed. I don't want you in danger. "Thank you."
"There, now. Was that so hard?" he teased.
"Oh, shush." She stiffened. The man on the fringe of the crowd, talking to a cocoa-colored girl—she looked about eight, and he looked about twenty. He was crouched in front of her, listening intently, hands relaxed and loose, head cocked attentively. Dark hair. Dark eyes. High cheekbones, pale skin, scar on the chin.
Gotcha.
"Oh, you prick," Gregory was muttering; he'd spotted the killer, too. "Get the fuck away from her."
"Easy."
"If he puts a finger on her, I'm cutting off his head."
"We'll do that anyway."
"Okay," he said, comforted.
Martigan pointed, and the child nodded warily. He said something—Boo couldn't pick it up over the murmuring of the crowd—and the girl laughed and nodded again, more relaxed. "Prick. Prick. Prick."
"Don't tell me what he's saying to her, I don't even want to know."
Martigan gestured, and the girl followed his hands. He caught her chin, gently forcing her to look back at him, and spoke again.
Gregory twitched. "Easy," Boo said.
The child nodded yet again, much more slowly this time, and even from a distance Boo could see her eyes had gone glassy. It occurred to her that Gregory had never tried to pull any vampire mind tricks on her.
Probably he doesn't dare.
And maybe he wouldn't do that to take advantage. Just for someone's own good, like Eddie.
And maybe you should keep your mind on business, dumbass.
"Okay," she said, and they followed Martigan and the child through the crowd and into Public Gardens.
"We're too far away."
"We're fine."
"He could hurt her before we get to her."
"You can get to her in time."
His lips thinned. "I appreciate your confidence, but…"
"Gregory, I do this for a living, okay? Trust me. Cripes, you're a nervous wreck."
"It's just… she's so little."
"It'll be fine." There were fewer and fewer people in the park, just the occasional couple leaning against a tree, talking softly. Martigan had a hand on the child's shoulder and was leading her onto a deserted path.
"Ready?"
"So ready."
Gregory went left, and Boo hurried forward, dropping her hand into her bag. "Excuse me?" she called, her voice high and sweet. "We're looking for our l
ittle girl? Jenny? Is that you?"
Martigan turned, his hand tightening on the child's shoulder. He was relaxed, smiling. "Sorry, this isn't her." He got a good look at Boo as she got closer and the smile faded. "You look—kind of familiar. You—"
"I'm too old for you," she said sweetly. "Why don't you let go of the kid before something unbelievably awful happens to you?"
He showed his teeth, and the girl yelped as his hand clamped down, but her dreamy expression didn't change. "You're Ghost."
"Remind me to get a wig."
"Come a step closer, and I'll unzip her like a bass."
"Oh, John." She smiled. "You'll do that anyway." Then the stake burst from his chest, and Gregory was there, yanking the girl away, stepping back as Martigan thudded to the ground. Boo watched the killer's eyes go as glassy as the girl's, cloud over, die.
"It's the little things in life that make it all worthwhile," she said, and took the child's hand.
* * *
CH@%!*R 17
"We make a good team."
"Screw that." She noticed he had tightened up—she could feel it in the arm against her shoulders—and clarified. "We make a great team."
"We do, don't we? That piece of shit never knew what hit him."
"All part of the plan." She was getting out her keys; an hour had passed, and they had seen the child safely back to her group. Mercifully, the little girl remembered nothing.
"Scumbag," Gregory said. "It was too quick for him."
"It's over for him, and that's the important thing." She swung open the door, and they beheld an enraged, disheveled Eddie, who had clearly been on the way out. Gregory's arm slid off her shoulders, but Eddie was too puffed with outrageous indignation to notice.
"You guys suck! You sucker-punched me and you let him! Bad!" He shook his finger at them. "Very very bad!"
"We just didn't want you to get hurt," Gregory tried to explain.
"Yeah, dumb shit, we would have felt all awful inside if something had happened to you. Besides, you would have cramped our style."
