Morning came and I went back to more unpleasant drowsing.
The blood wasn’t sitting right in my stomach—stupid VBA shit—and the couch, while comfortable at first glance, was not the best thing to sleep on. And I’d turned over to face the back of the sofa at some point, resting on my undamaged right side and cutting off the circulation. That combined with the fucked up left and I had the scary feeling upon waking that I had no arms.
Stupid Nate should be sleeping on the stupid couch—not me. Maybe I’d stick him on the second level after all.
I sat up yawning again, rolling my shoulders to get more feeling into them. Nic was hunched over the computer and Peri napped on one of the cots.
“You can go sleep upstairs now,” she said with a glance over her shoulder. “Peter was with him for nearly six hours but he’s gone now.”
And I didn’t even know how long I’d slept. Or what day it was. I rubbed at my eyes tiredly and realized I didn’t care, either. “The kids still awake?”
“I think so. I put the TV in there for them.”
A glance around and I saw the missing spot on the brick wall where my forty-two-incher used to be. Real observant there, Zar. “I’ll check on the Peter thing.”
She didn’t object, which meant either she didn’t already know what they talked about or she did and figured I should hear it for myself. On the monitor in front of her was an email client and she hammered away on the keyboard forcefully. Probably some contact, someone she was asking for help. For me.
“I’ll give you a raise,” I said as I stood and stretched.
She shook her head. “This is a freebie and you know it.”
Well, hell. I tended to pay people because I sucked at saying the “T Y” words. “I’ll send you on vacation. With the Hell Bitch. Japan, if she wants. Don’t they have some sort of dead people celebration coming up?”
“Yes, obon, and you don’t think that might be a tad awkward?”
Whatever. Stupid hippy, concerned about others and their feelings.
I said nothing else and trudged for the room Ry and Ellie occupied. I knocked twice on the door in warning and then opened it. I didn’t think I’d catch them doing anything naughty, after all.
And they weren’t. Both sat on the bed; Ryann against the headboard and Ellie stretched out on his stomach, watching some show nattering on about strange phenomena found all over the world—pyramid-like structures, weird lines in the ground, and even valleys that look black as if the earth had been scorched. Riveting stuff for a psychic, apparently, but I thought he’d be more interested in cooking or something normal. The bed was made, sheets turned down, and I had to wonder who was the tidy one in the relationship—Ellie liked things neat and orderly, but then Ryann was a former nun which had to be like a cleanliness/godliness thing.
“How’d it go?”
Ellie hit mute and gazed up at me through shaggy hair. “Good. I think. I have no idea half of what they were talking about, but then I was drunk.”
“I didn’t either,” Ryann spoke up, meeting my gaze. “No signs of aggression, no attacks. He accepts that Peter is there, speaking through Ellie. They talked about people and places. Memories from school. I didn’t understand many of the references but they did. I assume that’s good.”
I was still fucking exhausted so I would too. “Good enough. Need anything, tell Nic.” I thought for sure Ry would argue but she didn’t say a word.
The whole lot of them were being too nice and helpful. Probably planning a mutiny.
I trudged up the stairs to the loft, not looking forward to sleeping on a goddamn cot. I had a very expensive mattress set for a reason. But if I was uncomfortable on it, I wouldn’t fall into a deep sleep, and would stay alert should something happen.
Which it might. His lucid moments seemed to precede utter insanity.
Just the light over the dresser burned as I entered and I yawned again. I scanned the room, heart stopping for a moment when I didn’t see him on the bed, and then I caught the dark shape in the corner of the room; Nate sat back there on the floor, knees pulled up and elbows resting on them. Looking down. Saying nothing.
I hung by the closed door for a moment. Eyed the cot, then the bed. “So are you not sleeping? ’Cause I wouldn’t say no to taking the bed for a couple of hours.”
No response—no acknowledgment.
Fuck it. I walked over and beat some shape back into the pillow, then turned the blankets down. “Maybe give me some kind of warning before you attempt to kill me if I’m sleeping. Like, put some dramatic battle music on my iPod. I think there’s an Epic Fight playlist—”
“Zara.”
A chill rolled down my spine and I froze, hand still gripping the thick Egyptian cotton white sheet, squeezing. Squeezing. Like all I could handle doing was hold onto that sheet. His voice settled into my head, tone cautious. Hopeful.
Or maybe that was me. Cautious hope.
Chapter Seventeen
Better
I turned my gaze to him and he was looking at me, at me like he really saw me. Looking up, still crouched there in the corner, shoulders turned inward. Eyes blue—so, so blue—and bright, lucid. A line of worry tucked between his dark brows.
Oh my Flying Spaghetti Monster.
I peeled my fingers back from the sheet with considerable effort, my knuckles bloodless and as white as the bedding. A lump in my throat made it difficult to swallow and even as hope rose, I quashed it again with mental Louboutin crepe satin heels.
Four steps to the side, my feet heavy, and I stopped again. My hand crept around the cool wrought iron bed post, giving me something to grip, to help keep me upright. He didn’t move to rise, did nothing but stare, gaze travelling over me. My face, pausing at my throat as his frown deepened, over me in that way he had a million years ago that used to irritate me, studying me with no hint of checking me out. Emotion welled, rising in my chest but I clamped down on it and waited.
Fool me once and all that.
His gaze moved back up to my face, locking on my eyes.
“Are you...you?”
He tilted his head to the side. “As opposed to...?”
Relief crashed hard—he sounded like himself. “No more holes in the brain? Neurons are waiting in line like they should? Chaos is quiet? You know who I am?”
He gave me a look like I might be on drugs or something. Best damn news of the night.
I started forward, reaching for the key to his manacles, then remembered I’d had it in my other jeans and the hell if I knew now where I’d put them. I backtracked, yanked open the top drawer of my dresser, and grabbed the lockpick kit before heading for him again.
He didn’t question why he was manacled. Didn’t say a word about anything. Logically, he remembered it all. I guessed. Or maybe he didn’t. Nate had been relatively accepting of things as they happened, only breaking out the panic at the last possible moment and for an instant before a plan was in place. So I could see him come back to himself chained up in a strange bedroom, notice me standing there, and not ask what the fuck.
If he didn’t remember, I’d have to tell him. Explain that six years had passed. The world thought he was dead. And, technically, he was—that I’d killed him. Turned him. Changed him. For better or worse, he was a vampire. And also penniless. And he’d tried to kill me. And I’d slept with him while he was crazy.
We might need couple’s therapy—I should ask around for recommendations.
He turned his hands out, palms up, offering me his wrists. I eased the hook pick in, shifting until it clicked and popped open. One manacle dropped, then the other, and the pile thumped on the hardwood. He said nothing the whole time, watching me work on his ankles, until I had him free of everything. He rubbed at his wrists, flesh slightly chaffed but not too badly, and probably from when he’d pinned me down and tried to strangle me, so I wasn’t feeling bad about it.
Too much.
I pushed the heap of manacles and chains aside and sat bac
k on my heels. “How do you feel?”
He seemed to search the air to his left for answers, frowning again, and reached up to press his fingers to his chest, then his shoulder. “Sore.” Fingertips caught on the holes in his T-shirt from where Ryann had tranq’d him and he frowned at them.
Shit. He might not know and I didn’t want to have that conversation yet. Tension hung between us, silence thickened. I’d had a lot of time to think about this happening and, when it involved him being sane and normal, there was the prerequisite slow motion embrace followed by wanton acts of nudity.
Now, though... I swallowed tightly. For all I knew, I was still sleeping on that uncomfortable couch and this was a dream about to pitch into a nightmare. “Anything else?”
“I’m...” A pause, then he met my gaze. “Hungry.”
Oh. Good. That was something I could deal with. “Leftovers or take out?”
He seemed to chew on it. “I defer to you.”
It sounded like he knew what I was talking about. Knew what he was, what he’d been feeding on for days.
Or it might be wishful thinking. Still, I liked practical. Something I could get my hands on and accomplish. And procuring a meal? Yeah, I was good at that. I stood and headed straight for the bedroom door, my steps quicker than they needed to be, like I was running away or something.
Which I could’ve been—I tended to, when emotion got too high. Because I’m mature like that. My pulse was erratic and hard in my throat, and the thing clawing up toward my lips might’ve been a squee or a scream. I didn’t know which.
I clambered down the stairs. “You can leave now.”
Nic looked up from the computer, tired eyes wide, and even Peri roused when she asked, “Pardon?”
“You. Can. Leave. Now.” I was backing up, quick steps, fumbling around the stairs toward the spare room door. “Grab your stuff. Go.”
She started to speak, then her gaze drifted up to the loft. So did mine, and I paused—Nate stood in the doorway, staring down. He’d discarded the torn T-shirt and he had put a bit more weight on the past few days by the looks of it, muscles filling in. He was lean and toned.
And oh so pretty.
Focus. Get food. Then talk. Sort shit out and maybe get naked time. If you’re good. I hauled open the spare room door where Ry and Ellie still sat, watching my TV. “Leave.”
“What?”
“Your services are no longer needed. Right now. You know, rest for a while. At home. Away from here. Get the fucking point?”
Ryann blinked, Ellie’s lips parted, but I didn’t catch any of it because I was leaving the room, heading back for the stairs.
“C’mon guys, hit the road.” I clapped my hands together. “Chop chop. Go home and rest. You all did a fab job. Really, I’m touched. Now leave. Er, go on vacation.”
“There’s still an hour of daylight,” Nic said.
“So ride in the trunk. I’ll give you a bonus. Drop the kids off.” I stomped up the stairs again.
“Zar—”
“It’ll all be okay. Promise. Check in later. In a couple days, we’ll probably need to speak to Peter again and everyone can come over for a welcoming party. With silly hats and noise makers. Or something. Just...go. Now.”
Nate stepped back as I approached the threshold and I slipped in the bedroom, making a beeline for the closet. My hands trembled as I clasped the doorknob and yanked, nerves stretched taut and jittery.
He was sane. Glory be and halle-motherfucking-lujah, he was sane.
“Who are they?”
I glanced over my shoulder; he stood in the doorway to my closet, watching as I rifled around for clothes. “Uh, frie—um, employees. On friendly terms with me. I guess. No jokes.”
“Friends you send Christmas cards to? Meet for coffee?” His lips quirked, as if trying to smile, and though the joke rang a little hollow, it warmed me through.
“I said that’s not funny. There’s a vampire, a quarter-demon, ex Venatores Daemonum member, and a psychic. Now that I have a warlock, I have a complete set to sell on eBay.” I jerked hangers over the racks, metal grinding against metal, as I hunted for proper club wear. An hour to sunset—that was enough time to get ready. I’d take a car—and a gun—and see what was on the menu at Alchemy Red. Many humans wouldn’t come home with a vampire but if I flashed enough cash—and cleavage—I could probably get some to agree.
Though the cleavage wouldn’t necessarily work on girls. Who would he prefer to feed from? Biting a guy might be kind of hot from my perspective, but then some guys found it too homoerotic and pussied out. Maybe opposite sex feeding would be more comfortable for his first time—but then the thought of his lips, his teeth, on some other chick’s neck had me twitching with rage. It might be safer for all those involved if we didn’t set off my jealousy when I was trying to play teacher.
And I’d never get anything to eat if I wasn’t dressed—I’d be arrested before I got there—so I went back to cycling through my clothes, organized by colour and alphabetized by designer. My gaze settled on black lace brocade and steel boning.
It’s always a good day for a corset.
“I’m going to get dressed and cleaned up, put away some of the crap downstairs from my guests being here for days, then I’ll head out within the hour, and hopefully be back thirty minutes after that. Feel free to get shower or watch TV or something.”
Especially a good day for a corset when your vampire-warlock-lover-who-is-just-recently-awake-and-sane is around.
Chapter Eighteen
Feeding
I opted for a male and female combo: guy and his girlfriend, thinking vampires feeding from them would make for kinky sex afterward. I made it clear that were would be no foursomes, no voyeurism, but left out the part about how it’s less erotic for most people and more oh-my-god-I’m-dying painful. They’d figure that out soon enough. I even paid up front and they went willingly in my car with me.
Two would ensure he didn’t drain one. He’d fed regularly, sure, but that first warm-blooded human? It’s easy to get carried away. I’d done it. A lot. And I didn’t care a whole lot about mortals but he might feel guilty for accidentally slaughtering a few of them so if I could spare him from that, I would.
With the black brocade corset, I wore a micro-mini skirt—black and electric blue plaid—with black lace edging, and a tall pair of black boots up to my knees. A black choker with a chunky cross covered my throat—kind of 1990’s, I would grant, but it covered much of the remaining bruising on my neck. Makeup was focused on kohl lining my eyes and a splash of lipstick; I was mostly relying on the bod to draw them in. The ensemble said I wasn’t fucking around. Well, yet. We’d see what the night brought.
Nate hadn’t looked at me any different when I left my room looking like sin incarnate, which irritated me but was at least in character. I could prance around naked—had pranced around naked—and he never cared. Maybe he didn’t remember the part where he was in love with me. It was possible his brain had missed it or something. That he looked for me for four months. Found me. Saved my life. Had a ridiculous amount of sex crammed into one night and morning.
That would suck to forget.
For now, though, I’d play teacher. I had dark-haired, dreamy-eyed, skinny Isabella and her equally skinny but decent looking boyfriend Eddie—I was positive those weren’t their real names, but I wanted their blood, not their brain power—riding in the elevator with me. “Isabella” was skanked up in cheap vinyl pants that sat low enough to reveal plumber butt if she bent over and a backless tank that showed the vague outline of ribs. Eddie was appropriately brooding in a long black coat, and kept giving smoldering looks to his girlfriend.
It might be really hard not to kill these two.
The elevator rumbled to a halt at my apartment and I hauled open the door. “Remember what I said—no quick movements, and try not to scream. Or...be dorky.” My heels clacked on the wood as I walked and shadows played on the wall opposite the loft, Nate standi
ng in the doorway. His gaze moved over the pair slowly following behind me. The kids—they were in their twenties and looked older than me, but had the distinct air of naivety about them so I labeled them “kids”—gazed about at my apartment, taking in the red brick walls, rafters, and original architecture. When Isabella’s gaze hit Nate in the doorway, she stopped dead.
Yeah, he tended to have that effect on people.
“Want wine? Or...whiskey, or something?” I called as I started for the kitchen. Liquor would loosen them up. Might cut down on the screaming. Or the irritating babbling, which was the sound coming out of Isabella’s mouth.
I swear to fucking GOD that if she asks him if he sparkles, I’ll stab her in the throat.
There wasn’t much left in my fridge. A fifth of cinnamon whiskey remained, and I poured shots into a pair of glasses and returned to the kids. Nate had reached the bottom steps, studying I&E silently.
Maybe he thought takeout would mean Chinese. Or pizza. Stuff humans eat.
Oh, this was gonna be awkward.
I handed off the glasses to our intended victims and wished I’d drunk a few bottles myself. Feeding wasn’t hard, per se. Pop your fangs out, bite down, drink and try not to spill any. Probably not a good idea to let the victim die. Bite your lip or something to stop the bleeding. But the directions stuck in my throat so I just stood there while Isabella and Eddie drank their whiskey and Nate approached slowly. His pupils dilated and I heard his heart kick up from four feet away—knew that look immediately. Even in their veins, he could smell it. It wasn’t like those piece of shit plastic pouches—this was real. Primal. Raw. The demon in us pushing, whispering, hungering.
I’d have to take the lead, direct him, and truthfully I hungered as well. I went for Eddie, who had on a thick layer of some douchenozzle body spray, but thankfully I only needed to breathe to talk, so I just closed my nose to it. His eyes went wide, like maybe he expected a bit more seduction or something, not just the four of us standing in my apartment, halfway between the living room and the front hall, room thick with shadows and no direct lighting. I slid my hand up his arm, his shoulder, neck, and against the back of his head, a delicious warmth running through me. His head tilted with a little pushing from me, baring his neck.
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