“So then.” She opened her arms. “Help me make it right.”
So he did. Enthusiastically. All over her hobbit hole.
Wait. Did I refer to myself as a hobbit hole, or my apartment as a hobbit hole?
Fuck it.
Twenty-five
“Ummmm . . .”
“Right.”
“Ah, God.”
“Right.”
“I’m numb . . . everywhere.”
“I warned you that might happen.”
Edward groaned and sat up. “Ow!”
“Careful.” She sat up as well and tried to examine his head in the gloom. The sun had been trying to set for the last hour.
“What the hell?”
“You hit your head on the desk.”
“What the hell!”
“Sit still; I can’t look at it if you keep wriggling.” She smelled sweat and semen and musk, but no blood. Felt the top of his head. No swelling. “I think you’re all right.”
“Tell that to my concussion.”
“I was.”
They were beneath the small rolltop desk in her living room. She had no idea how they’d ended up there. They had begun in the kitchen and moved to the floor beneath the plasma TV, and for a little while they were in her tub . . . probably . . .
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m not surprised. I saw you gobbling down those cupcakes right before you jumped me in the kitchen.”
“It’s called being a good guest.”
“Oh, is that what it’s called?”
“Did you bring me food, or just lab results?”
“I brought Oreos,” he said. Then, helpfully, “And milk, and a jar of peanut butter and some sandwich bread.”
“Nectar of the gods!” she exclaimed, and scrambled from beneath the desk.
A few minutes later, they were lying on her bed, wolfing down peanut butter sandwiches.
“You mean to tell me,” he said thickly through peanut butter, “I could have brought this sack for a first date and not dropped a ton of money on fresh seafood?”
“I told you to let me pay.”
“Because that’s just weird, Rachael. That is Outer Limits weird. You are a weird girl. Which is so hot, incidentally.”
“Thank you.” She stared at the Oreo in his hand until he handed it over. “Thank you!”
“I don’t think you’re even chewing.” He was peering at her, grinning. “I think it all just rockets into your gullet.”
“Does not. Shut up.” She licked her fingers. “Still want to have a picnic on the bluffs?”
“Now?” He glanced out a window. “It’s almost dark.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And you just ate all the food I brought for our picnic.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We won’t be able to see much.”
Wrong. I see everything.
“I want to go outside. Can’t we go outside now?”
“Sure, Rache. We’ll go wherever you want. Don’t worry, I packed tons of bug spray.”
Which is how they ended up on the bluffs overlooking the St. Croix River at nine thirty P.M. on a perfect August evening, reeking of N,N-Diethyl-meta-toluamide, also known as OFF! mosquito repellant.
“Oh, my,” she said, gazing around her.
“Yeah. I love it up here.”
They were seated just at the tree line, overlooking the river. They could see the city of Stillwater below, the restaurants lit up, the streetlights glowing. The river was a black trail beneath them, dotted with little blobs of light from the various boats.
A slight breeze brought dizzying scents to her: grass and trees and leaves and life. Mating rabbits about thirty-five feet away. White-tail deer cropping grass, sixty feet away.
“You okay?”
“I am very much okay.”
“Not too cold?” He’d brought blankets and spread them out with some ceremony. He’d brought more to wrap around her shoulders, though she would never feel the cold as quickly as he did.
“No.”
“See okay?”
A bald eagle cruising in the dark. Field mice scurrying for the tree line. A she-possum darting through dense underbrush with young clinging to her back.
“I can see . . .”
A pair of red-shouldered hawks, competing for the same prey, diving toward the cool blue water, only one emerging with a small bass. Their dive startled a heron, and she flapped away. Another bass, much bigger, jumped and arched and fell back into the river with a small splash.
“. . . everything.”
Oh, everything, she could see everything, and had she ever been so drunk when it wasn’t a full moon? It was two days away, but in her blood, the moon was full and rising and coloring everything she saw, everything she felt, and had it ever been like this? Ever?
No.
“Feels like we’re the only people up here. Not just here. Anywhere.”
It did. It did feel like that. Although she felt obliged to warn him . . . “It’s an illusion. There’s another couple, but they’re way down there.”
“Really? Gah, I can’t see that far.” Neither could she. But she could smell them. The breeze was blowing exactly the right way. “You must have kick-ass night vision.”
“Yes, that must be it.” She reached out, not looking, and found his hand. Clutched it. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. For showing me this place.”
“Are you kidding? I’d take you anywhere, Rache. Anywhere you wanted to go. Anytime.”
“Then take me now.” She touched the back of his neck, pulled him forward, kissed him. She bit his mouth, lightly, and then stroked the bite with her tongue. His lust flared between them, sullen coals one second, a raging forest fire the next. “Here.”
“I’ve mentioned how completely awesome you are in every single way, right?”
“Many times.”
“Just making sure. Never let it be said that I take any one thing about you for granted in any way, ever.” He was tugging her shirt over her head, yanking at her shorts. She was doing the same to him, while reminding herself not to shred any items of clothing he would need later. “Um . . . we’re not gonna have company, are we?”
“They don’t know we’re here. They’re not even looking this way.”
“Oh thank God.”
“Wait . . . like this.”
“Oh my God.”
“And like this.
“Oh my God.”
“And . . . are you all right?’
“Well, I’m probably going to have a major cardiac event pretty soon. I’m pretty sure my pulse has never been so high for so sustained a period, but I’m okay with it. There are way worse ways to go than dying in your arms.”
She giggled as she turned him where she liked, as she went to her knees in front of him, as she put her weight on her elbows. “You won’t die, Edward. Probably.”
“Oh my God. Your ass . . . it’s perfect! You have a perfect ass! How have I not noticed this yet?” She could feel his fingers on her hips, grazing, then grasping. “Oh, who the fuck cares?” Felt his fingers slip between her thighs, find her slippery, dip for a bare moment. “Ummm . . . oh God . . .” Felt him grip her hips, harder, felt that thick part of him start to slide inside.
She met his thrust, hard. His hips rocked back, then forward, hard. She clutched at the blanket, reminded herself not to tear it, and met him thrust for thrust. His groans were dark music to her, the way he sighed and whispered things was a mystic language she had never before known but now spoke fluently.
She didn’t know what his favorite color was, or his worst childhood memory, or his allergies (poor creatures . . . allergies !), or his favorite dessert. How could she feel so complete with a man she barely knew? Because she felt exactly that, and just as the dictionary defined it: complete. Lacking nothing; whole. Entire.
“Edward.”
“Ummm?”
“I’m going to come.”
“Oh
God.”
“Right now.”
“Ahhhh! Jesus Christ, I can actually feel your muscles—aahhhh !”
Good thing I warned him.
He won’t really have a heart attack, will he? She pondered CPR for non-Pack members while at the same time feeling the world tilt as her orgasm bloomed like a black flower.
They met each other for a final thrust, and then he collapsed over her back. “I’m dying,” he groaned. “Everything’s going dark. Farewell, cruel world, which recently got really awesome.”
She giggled. “You can’t see a thing; how can anything go dark? You’re so odd, Edward.”
“Me? I’m odd? Me? Who cares? Rachael, you can call me anything you like, whenever you like, if we have more bluff sex later.”
“Bluff sex.” She was now laughing so hard she’d collapsed forward, losing a bit of breath as the rest of his weight came down on her. “Bluff sex?” She wriggled to poke him in the ribs. “Like all males, now that you’ve climaxed you are incapable of romance.”
“I’m chock-full of romance, you shrew. I’m so full of romance it’s leaking everywhere.” He poked her back, then grabbed her and gave her a rib-squeezing hug. “This is insane. You’re a hologram, I’ve told you that theory, right? Or I’m pulling a 28 Days Later and am comatose somewhere while zombies race the streets. Something this awesome simply is not happening in the real world.”
“Now: whoever said this was the real world?” If he knew of her world, he would believe it.
And for the first time, she started seriously wondering when and how to discuss that world with him. For the first time, that seemed like a natural progression. And as she was an accountant just as much as a Pack member, it seemed quite logical to her. One plus one equaled two. Edward should be told about the Pack so he could make informed decisions. Easy.
Sure.
So they snuggled on their blanket and looked at the stars, thought very different thoughts, and eventually dozed.
Twenty-six
“What the—?”
Edward sat up. He was in his hotel room, in his bed. And he was naked. And he had no idea how he’d gotten there. The last thing he remembered was . . . was . . .
Bluff sex!
Oh my God! Bluff sex!
He booted the covers away and kicked joyously at the ceiling. “Yes, yes, yesyesyes!” It wasn’t a dream! Probably! Too bad he couldn’t remember anything after bluff sex . . . no. Wait.
There was something else, by God! Yeah, there it was: by the time they’d hiked back to the car, dawn was only a couple of hours away and he was staggering. Not that he was any sort of wimp—he jogged, he lifted, and he occasionally helped Boo hunt vampires. Still: he’d had to give up a lot of, um, bodily fluids recently. Way more than he was used to, that was for damned sure.
He remembered sort of collapsing into the car, then Rachael hauling him out and helping him stretch out in the backseat. Then she’d asked for an address, and he’d mumbled something, and then she’d taken his key card, and then was helping him inside, and then . . .
. . . he woke up.
Had she undressed him? Had he undressed himself in some sort of sexual stupor? Had he never gotten dressed after bluff sex? And why did he care?
I am totally marrying that chick. Assuming she’d even have me.
Right. But first things first: duty called. Only yesterday, when he had no idea things like bluff sex existed, he had met a zombie and figured it was past time to call Boo. But now he was glad he hadn’t.
The zombie hadn’t hurt him, right? Hadn’t hurt anybody as far as Edward could see. In fact, the shambling undead thing had gone out of its way to be polite and helpful. It might be premature to call Boo. He needed to do more recon.
And it had nothing, at all, to do with the fact that once Boo flew to town and kicked some collective undead ass, his work here would be done. There’d be nothing to prevent him from going back home.
It had nothing to do with that. He just didn’t want to waste Boo’s time. He wanted to be sure before he loosed the beast on an unsuspecting undead populace.
It had nothing to do with wanting more bluff sex. And how he couldn’t wait to watch Rache put away, oh, half a dozen Subway foot-longs.
It didn’t.
It didn’t.
So: he’d recon. Right now.
Twenty-seven
Though they never knew, Rachael woke up the instant Edward did. The only difference was, she knew exactly where she was, how she’d gotten there, and why she was naked.
“Bluff sex,” she mused aloud, and shook her head. And laughed at the sheer silliness of it. The man was good for a laugh, if nothing else. And he was good for plenty else; nothing never entered into it.
Her good humor lasted until she picked up her cell and saw a cryptic text from one of two people who had her texting info: “There’s been another one.”
Cain, with an update. Definitely not Edward.
“Shit,” she said, her good mood vanishing. She’d decided against her chat with the vampire queen, and there was a fresh corpse to rebuke her laziness. Whoever you are, I’m so sorry. If it’s any consolation, I won’t allow it to happen to anyone else. This I so swear.
Yeah, sure. If it’d been her ghost being appealed to, she wouldn’t have been impressed or appeased, either.
Time to see the queen. Right now. Bluff sex would wait. Edward would wait. The lemon icebox pie she knew Call Me Jim was baking upstairs would wait.
She dressed in a blur of motion and ran out to her car in her bare feet. She was so keyed up she never would have noticed, but the vampire queen sure did.
Twenty-eight
She was in enough of a hurry to drive, and parked her car on a slant in the driveway. She hurried up the driveway and, to her relief, didn’t even have to ring the doorbell or knock on the door. The dead man had opened it for her.
She slowed. She stared.
The man was not a vampire, and he sure as shit wasn’t Pack. He was dead. Newly dead. Newly dead and walking around. But not a vampire. She . . . she didn’t understand it.
“I don’t understand this.”
“Ah, you’re back. Tina told me you’d be coming by. I’ve got Antonia’s things right in here, if you’ll—”
“Someone is murdering humans to make your friends fight with my family, I think.”
The zombie blinked. He was quite handsome for a corpse, with black hair and eyes the color of wet leaves. He was wearing surgical scrubs, which added just the right surreal note to their odd meeting.
“Oh. Well. In that case”—holding the door wide for her—“you’d better come in and talk to Betsy and Sinclair.”
And in she went.
Twenty-nine
Horror-struck, Edward was frozen to the spot. He felt like he was in a nightmare. He prayed he was in a nightmare. It wasn’t real, right? None of this was real. He hadn’t seen . . . any of it. He hadn’t seen it. It didn’t happen.
It was happening. Right now.
Rachael had driven right up to the mansion, exactly like she knew where it was.
She’d parked the car in the driveway at a hurried slant, not caring if someone was blocked . . . she’d been there before and wasn’t worried about pissing someone off with a crappy parking job.
She’d gone right into the mansion. Right in. Someone had been watching for her and held the door for her. Held the fucking door for her! It was that last that seemed to shriek the implication at him.
He plunged his hands in his hair and clutched hard enough to make his eyes water. “What . . . the . . . fuck?”
Thirty
The polite and helpful zombie led her straight back to what Rachael saw was the kitchen, one the size of a small football stadium. The queen, her assistant/friend/minion Tina, and the starving pregnant angry Jessica were all seated on stools around a butcher-block table.
The air reeked of fruit, and there were many, many glasses on the table, all with varying amounts and t
ypes of smoothies in them. There were three, count ’em, three empty blenders plugged in and clearly ready for more business.
“You again,” the queen greeted her. “Just in time for happy hour.” Nothing. Nothing. “Whoa! No shoes, no service, missy! What’s with the bare feet? Are you from Arkansas?”
“No.” She realized in her rush to leave she’d neglected footwear. What an odd thing for the queen of the vampires to notice. “Forgive me, but . . .” Why was this only now occurring to her? Was she in that deep a fog of lust? “. . . why are you awake when it’s daytime?”
The leggy blonde yawned. She was either unphased by Rachael’s reappearance or possessed a superhuman ability to appear so. “Queen of the vamp perks.”
“But she”—pointing to Tina—“isn’t the queen.” Unless she was . . . what? A co-ruler?
“No, but she’s decrepit,” Jessica answered, unmindful of her smoothie moustache. Hunger. Amusement. “Ancient, even. I guess the older you are, the more godless hideous abilities you get.”
“What an apt description, Jessica, thank you so much.” Nothing. Nothing.
So. The vamp who looked like a walking ad for jailbait (who wore pleated plaid skirts with crisp white blouses anymore, unless they were on their way to a costume party or a fetish convention?) was an ancient vampire.
Good to know. She hoped they would make more slips. If they were slips. Could they be that confident? That unworried?
“I guess that makes sense,” she admitted, feeling a comment was required. They were awfully free with their information. Assuming any of it was the truth. She couldn’t tell, that was the maddening part. Only with the pregnant woman, and who knew what havoc pregnant hormones were wreaking on her senses? “I apologize for coming by, again, without calling first, again, but I need to tell you—”
“Why have you and your friend been sneaking around the neighborhood?” Tina asked.
Rachael thought about that one for a few seconds. The queen apparently saw this as a lull in the conversation, which she jumped to fill: “See? Toldya that’d knock her for a loop. Oooh, gimmee more of that sweet blackberry goodness. Nom, nom, nom!”
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