Semi-Twisted:

by Isabel Jordan

  Yes. No. Maybe. Probably…yes. No, definitely yes.

  Tina chuckled. “Well, as long as you’re sure.”

  Mischa let out a disgruntled groan. “I keep asking myself, ‘what would Harper do,’ you know? She’s always so brave and confident. But that doesn’t really help here, because Harper wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.”

  Tina put her hands on Mischa’s shoulders and turned her around so that they were eye to eye. (And for once, Mischa could actually be eye to eye with someone. They were the exact same height. It was a nice change of pace.) “Now you listen here, girlie. You need to stop doubting yourself once and for all. It’s that doubt that got you into this mess to begin with. You’re beautiful and smart and tough just like my Harper. But do you know what you have that she doesn’t?”

  Crippling indecision and bouts of pathological self-doubt? “No. What?”

  “Quiet strength. The emotional kind. Now, don’t get me wrong, Harper is strong. But she’s fearless, too. Acts without thinking through consequences. It’s easy to be strong when you’re fearless. But you?” She shook her head and smiled warmly at her. “You think everything through. You’re logical, methodical. So when you act? I know you do it with full knowledge of the consequences. And being brave and gutting something out when you fully understand the consequences? Well, there’s nothing more terrifying than that.”

  Mischa swallowed hard against the lump that had appeared in her throat. “Harper’s way sounds a lot better to me right now.”

  Tina gave her arm a sympathetic pat. “It almost always does, sweetheart. But this time, you’ve got nothing to worry about. That business about doing the opposite of what your instincts tell you?” She frowned and blew a raspberry. “I gotta tell you, no offense to your doctor friend, but that’s a bunch of hooey. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that when you listen to your heart, it will never lead you astray. It’s only the mind that can get twisted up and mess with you.”

  “You’ve got 5 minutes, New York! Move it to stage right.”

  Mischa and Tina both flinched at the stagehand’s barked order. Tina scowled at him and in a razor-edged tone, said, “This beautiful young woman is not a lunch special, child. You can’t just order her.”

  The stagehand opened his mouth to argue, but something he saw in her expression made him think better of it. After a moment, he mumbled, “My apologies, ma’am.”

  Tina sniffed delicately and removed her scarf, then slapped a hat down over her blond curls. She fussed with it for a moment before tilting it to a jaunty angle. “That’s more like it.” She waved an imperious hand in his direction. “Scuttle off, then. We’ll be there in a moment.”

  When he was gone, Tina turned and gave Mischa’s hair one last completely unnecessary spritz of hairspray. Under her breath, she muttered, “These kids today. I swear these video games and the internet have rotted their brains. Basic courtesy seems a foreign art to the little degenerates…now where were we? Oh, yes. Tell me, dear, what’s your heart tell you need to do right now? Quick, without thinking.”

  “Go out there and take back what’s mine,” Mischa said, with zero hesitation.

  Tina’s answering smile was triumphant and reminded Mischa so much of Harper that she did a double take. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

  Fuckin’-A, she thought, feeling a surge of confidence and resolve that she hadn’t felt since…well, ever she supposed.

  When Mischa reached her mark on the right side of the backstage area, Tina whispered, “Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask, dear, but…can you actually sing?”

  And splat went her confidence.

  Son of a bitch. This was going to be as embarrassing as all fuck. Thank God Harper wasn’t here to witness it.

  Mischa traced the sign of the cross on her chest and stepped into the spotlight.

  Chapter Thirty

  I have seen things that cannot be unseen.

  Wars, famine, heartbreak, tragedy…Hunter had seen it all. But what he’d seen today? Well, in its own way, the events of this day were every bit as horrifying as any atrocity he’d ever witnessed in his unnaturally long life.

  He’d decided that the talent competition in a vampire beauty pageant was the lowest ring of hell. Lower than the bowels of Midvale prison. Lower than invasive surgery without anesthetic. Lower than a busy Saturday afternoon at Walmart.

  Miss Delaware had performed interpretive dance to Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart. Miss New Mexico had recited an original poem entitled My Pussy. Hunter thought it was about her cat, but the whole thing was ambiguous and…horrifying, so he tried not to overthink it.

  Miss Wyoming did a dramatic reading from The Notebook, which might’ve been tolerable in and of itself. But since she chose to read the part of the male lead, the way she lowered her squeaky voice to imitate a man’s deeper register somehow made the whole thing sad and unintentionally hilarious at the same time.

  Then there was Miss Arizona.

  He shuddered at the memory of the girl’s ventriloquist act. Wasn’t it universally understood that ventriloquist dummies were inherently evil?

  And all the while, because he was in charge of the spotlight, he was forced to watch every mind-numbing performance until he wasn’t sure who he felt sorrier for: the girl on stage, or himself.

  But his mind completely blanked out as Mischa stepped onto the stage. She looked…like an angel. Her dress shifted as she moved, showing a whole lot of thigh on both sides.

  A highly erotic angel.

  With a grimace, she adjusted the microphone down to her height. (He was pretty sure Miss Arizona was part Amazon.) She closed her eyes and blew out in a way he’d seen humans do to calm themselves.

  “I have to be honest with all of you,” she said, her whiskey-smooth voice sending a shiver down his back. “I don’t have any talent.”

  The audience laughed, and she chuckled right along with them. “Unless you count running, that is. Oh, I don’t mean exercise. I mean running from my problems. Stuff that scares me. My life.” Her smile turned into a half-smirk. “My death,” she added, getting another laugh out of the audience.

  “But being here, with everything that’s happened lately…”

  Hunter had no idea if she meant everything that happened in the pageant, or with the two of them since his release, but he was glad his job only called on him to point a light at her. He was too in tuned to what she was saying to do much else.

  “…has made me realize I can’t afford to run anymore. I’ve already lost too much because of it.”

  Her eyes glistened and it was all he could do not to go to her.

  “I lost years of my life avoiding attachments. I messed up my relationship with my family.” She cleared her throat. “And I pushed the man I love out of my life. But I’m going to do my damnedest to fix everything tonight.”

  “What the hell are you doing, love?” he murmured.

  “I’ve already made amends with my family. They’re all here in the front row. See?”

  He aimed the light at the front row, and there was a tiny Italian woman, wildly waving and applauding, surrounded by eight young men who towered over her. Mischa’s mother and brothers, he realized.

  Moving the spotlight back to her, he shook his head in wonder. She’d actually done it. She’d made up with her family after twenty-plus years of estrangement.

  “And now,” she went on, shifting her gaze up to his, “all I need to do is win back the man I love. Trouble is, he won’t let me tell him how I feel.”

  The crowd booed a bit, and Mischa quickly shushed them. “No, no. It’s not his fault. I was a complete dumbass, trust me on that. But if he won’t let me tell him how I feel, I’m left with no alternative but to sing it. I’ll apologize to all of you in advance; this is most likely going to be horrible. So, without further ado, here it goes.”

  He recognized the music as soon as it started. His chest tightened as he listened to her sing
the old Elvis song.

  Maybe I didn't love you

  Quite as often as I could have

  Maybe I didn't treat you

  Quite as good as I should have

  If I made you feel second best

  I'm so sorry I was blind

  But you were always on my mind

  You were always on my mind

  “Well, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be, at least,” Tina whispered from directly behind him. “Her voice is no worse than Miss South Carolina. I swear to God, performing that song from Titanic should be illegal.”

  He had no idea how she’d managed to find her way up to the lighting catwalk in her ridiculous pumps and pencil-skirted suit, but he wasn’t about to ask. All of his attention was focused on Mischa as she sang directly to him.

  Tell me, tell me that your sweet love hasn't died

  Give me, give me one more chance

  To keep you satisfied

  I'll keep you satisfied

  Wait…she was saying way more than sorry, here. Did she mean…

  “You know,” Tina added, “she’s the one who secured your early release.”

  He glanced back at her, shocked. “Who told you that?”

  She scoffed. “Please. I don’t need anyone to tell me that. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  She would’ve had to do some serious maneuvering to make that happen. It wouldn’t have been worth it if she didn’t…

  Turning his attention back to Mischa, he can’t stop the stupid, lovesick grin he felt spreading across his face.

  But you were always on my mind

  You were always on my mind

  Her voice wavered and broke on the last line, going thick with emotion. Those same emotions—relief and nervousness and anxious energy and pure, unadulterated love—read clearly on her face as she put a hand over her eyes, trying to shield them from the spotlight as she sought him out.

  “Well, what the hell are you waiting for, you damn fool?” Tina hissed, swatting his shoulder. “Get down there!”

  What the hell was he waiting for, indeed?

  Flicking the spotlight off Mischa, he dropped from the catwalk, not bothering with the ladder.

  Above him, he heard Tina sigh and say, “Oh, this is going to be good.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The stage plunged into darkness, which shifted the energy in the audience (among the humans, anyway) from politely appreciative of her performance (which was every bit as appalling and pitchy as she’d feared it would be), to shocked murmurs and rumblings about what might be happening. Was it another attack?

  And suddenly, without so much as sound of warning, he was right in front of her, close enough that she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “Hi,” she whispered.

  Hunter’s lip twitched. “Hi.”

  She thanked God for her vampire eyesight, which allowed her to clearly see his expression, even on the pitch-black stage.

  And then she immediately said another prayer of thanks that he didn’t look embarrassed by her performance. Or ready to laugh at her.

  “You know,” she said, trying for a casual tone while feeling anything but, “I never believed in soulmates before. Not even when I was a little girl. I never believed I’d find anyone who was truly meant for me and me alone.”

  He hooked his fingers in his belt loops as he stared down at her, dark eyes carefully shuttered. “Is that so?”

  She nodded. “It never seemed plausible, you know? I mean, the whole notion of people being drawn together and bound by fate? Pfffttt. Totally unbelievable.”

  His gaze shifted to her lips and her stomach fluttered. “Totally unbelievable,” he murmured.

  “But now I know,” she whispered, nervous as all hell. “It’s all true. Now…”

  “Now?” he prompted.

  She swallowed hard. “It’s you. You’re my soulmate. You’re…it for me. I’ve known since before you turned me, I just…couldn’t admit it. Even to myself. It was all too scary.”

  His hands moved to her hips and he pulled her closer, squishing her breasts against his chest. Her nipples, of course, immediately went on high alert.

  Mischa licked her lips and his eyes tracked the movement. But still he didn’t say anything. She was pretty sure she was going to turn to dust and blow away on a breeze if he didn’t say or do something soon, so she blurted, “I’m not afraid anymore. The thought of living without you is scarier than any possible rejection could ever be. I love you. So much.”

  “I know.”

  She blinked. Oh…kay. Not one of the possible replies she’d considered. “I…guess I deserved that.”

  He leaned in and cupped her cheeks in his hands. She saw a ghost of a smile on his face before his lips captured hers in a quick but thorough kiss. He pulled back to rest his forehead against hers and whisper, “I love you, too. Always.”

  His rumbling, growly voice warmed her to the tips of her toes. “Really? So, Harper was right? Humiliating myself worked?”

  He gave her a small smirk. “The humiliation was a nice touch.”

  She would’ve given him a quick punch to the stomach for that one, but she was so happy she let it go. She closed her eyes and her knees sagged under the weight of her relief. But then it occurred to her that it was probably time to go big or go home.

  “I can’t guarantee I’m not going to fuck things up again,” she said. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit, I probably shouldn’t say ‘fuck’ in case the mics are still picking this up.” Then she closed her eyes and muttered, “And I probably shouldn’t say ‘shit’ either. Ugh. I’m fu…messing everything up already.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t give a fuck who might be listening. Go ahead and finish. I’ve been waiting forever to hear this.”

  Well, she couldn’t argue with that. “I just mean that up until now, running has kind of been my thing. I’m not really good at sticking around. I’ll probably make mistakes. But I’m going to stay in therapy, I’m going to keep learning about my powers, and if you don’t want to, uh, feed me anymore, I’ve already arranged for a blood donor.”

  He growled. “The hell you’re feeding from anyone but me.”

  His territorialism shouldn’t turn her on, but it totally did. “My point is that I’m doing my best to…untwist myself. For you. For us. I still don’t think I deserve you. But I swear that I’ll never stop trying to do better. To be better. If you’ll have me.”

  “If I’ll have you?” He snorted. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted in this world. If you hadn’t pulled this stunt tonight, I’d fully planned on kidnapping you and keeping you tied to my bed until I could convince you to stay with me forever. I think we can safely say ‘I’ll have you.’”

  Enough talking, she decided. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and yanked him down to her, crushing her mouth to his. She put every bit of emotion and love and hope she had into the kiss, feeling like her heart was swelling, pushing out all the insecurities she’d held onto her whole life. There was simply no room for that crap in her life—in her—anymore.

  Suddenly the spotlight hit them once again and the audience went wild, hooting and hollering and cheering until the noise was nearly deafening. And still the kiss went on.

  They broke apart only when the noise in the audience died down to hearty rounds of applause. Misha offered the crowd a little wave and guilty smile. She pointed to Hunter, mouthing to the audience, “This is him!”

  Hunter laughed right along with the audience before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her off the stage.

  Above them, on the lighting catwalk, Tina dabbed at her damp eyes with a tissue she’d pulled from her bra and sighed happily: “I just love a happy ending.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Real life sure had a way of bitch-slapping the hell out of a happy ending, Hunter thought.

  His plans for dragging Mischa off to his bed and keeping her there for, oh, three or four hundred years, were thwarte
d when Barbie, the aptly named pageant organizer, frantically told the contestants that crowning the winner would have to wait until Miss Utah was found.

  Harper’s brother, who’d been backstage with Emily, Tina quickly realized, was also MIA. And Emily’s dressing area? It was currently covered in Kadupul flowers that looked like they’d been stomped and methodically shredded petal by petal.

  Violently damaged metaphor flowers, as Mischa had said, couldn’t possibly be a good sign. Hunter tended to agree.

  So now, they were backstage with a terrified Tina, as Mischa sat on his lap (he wasn’t about to quit touching her anytime soon) scanning the list Harper had given him earlier.

  “There’s at least twenty people in this part of the country with the means to grow and transport these flowers,” she murmured. “We don’t have time to do background checks on all of them.”

  “We can probably eliminate the women, right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Theoretically. Unless he’s using a woman as a front. But for the sake of argument, after we eliminate the women, that still leaves,” she paused, doing a quick count, ticking off names with her fingertip, “twelve men.”

  Better than twenty, he supposed, but still not great. “What now?”

  Mischa bit her lower lip, then reached into her cleavage to pull out her phone. He immediately went semi-hard. She twisted around to look him in the eye. “Really? Now?”

  He shrugged, unapologetic. “My dick rarely cares about poor timing. It only knows a hot woman just touched her breasts.”

  Her pupils dilated, letting him know she wasn’t completely immune to the lust he was feeling. “Oh. Well…hold that thought.”

  “Leon,” she said into the phone, “I need a favor.”

  Whatever reply he made clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear, because she let out a frustrated growl that took Hunter from semi to fully hard in the span of a heartbeat. She jerked around to pin him with another surprised look. He shrugged again.