“Are you sure there were two dragons?” asked Patsy. Again.
I stopped short of rolling my eyes.
Ralph nodded. “We think the one who attacked was the same one from the cemetery. Did you ever find anything, Damian?”
Green Eyes shook his head. “We never found a body.”
Ralph sighed. “I think the second dragon is involved with Lia.”
“Great. So she’s hooked up with some bad-ass dragon who wants his sister’s power,” said Patsy. “Let’s hope Ash knows what the hell she’s doing.”
“She’s the only one who can kill him,” said Gabriel. “She’s the Convocation’s number one assassin. And the only one of her kind.”
“And what kind is that?” I asked.
“She’s a soul shifter. She absorbs the souls, and the forms, of the people she . . . er, releases from the bonds of earth,” said Gabriel. “The sooner she catches her dragon, the better for us. She has to take a soul every ninety days, no matter what, or she dies.”
Patsy shuddered. “Believe me, you don’t want to be near her when that shit goes down.”
“I think Libby should go to the hospital,” said Ralph. “He banged her up pretty good.”
“You, too,” I said.
“Dragon or not, you both probably need to be checked out,” said Patsy. “Tell you what—go to the hospital and, if Dr. Merrick gives you the thumbs-up, you can return to Ralph’s house and get some rest. I’ll send some guardians over there, just to be safe.”
Dr. Merrick was tall, slender, and very well dressed. I could sense something otherworldly about her, but unlike every other person I’d met so far, she didn’t have an aura. At least, not one I could detect.
Lucky for me and Ralph, Patsy had arranged for someone to bring us clothes. I wore the pajamas and a pair of Ralph’s socks. Ralph had tucked into a shirt, jeans, and an old pair of sneakers. We both had borrowed coats draped on the table near the door.
“You and Ralph are fine. Well, he’s still dead.”
“Ha ha, doc,” said Ralph.
She smiled. “No internal bleeding, broken bones, or other trauma I could find. If you experience pain, nausea, headaches, or double vision, come back so I can check you out again.”
With that prognosis, she left. Ralph and I looked at each other. It felt awkward between us, the way it always did without the fire. I wondered if the doctor counted heartache among the symptoms that would get me a recheck. Probably not. That pain was my own, and I wasn’t sharing it.
“Let’s go,” said Ralph.
We left the exam room and walked down the hallway. The hospital was small, but obviously well funded. New building or not, it had that cloying antiseptic smell found in every hospital.
The sparkly tattooed lady . . . Brigid, right? Yeah. She stood in the hallway, but had obviously just stepped out from a patient’s room.
“Brigid,” said Ralph. “How are they?”
Her smile was warm, even though her eyes held resignation. “It’s a terrible thing,” she said in her Irish lilt, “to have the power of gods, and not be able to save me own grandson.” Her gaze darted toward the opened door.
My heart dropped to my toes. I didn’t want to see what I had done. On purpose or not, I’d hurt someone, someone who might not live because of my actions.
Ralph took my hand, and I was grateful for his intuitive, silent support. Brigid gestured toward the room and, reluctantly, I peeked inside.
Two hospital beds had been pushed together. Patrick and his wife lay shoulder to shoulder with the thin white covers pulled up to their chins. I noticed Patrick’s hair was black again. Both were ghastly pale, and it didn’t take a doctor to know that they weren’t doing well.
Each had an IV hooked up to their arms. The thin plastic tubes delivered blood. Uncomfortable, I stepped back.
“We keep hoping fresh blood will revive them,” said Brigid. “We’ve tried every kind: donors, Ancients, lycans, even mine.”
“If you’re a goddess, why can’t you fix them?” I asked. I wasn’t even sure I believed she was a goddess.
“There are rules,” she said vaguely.
“Libby Monroe?” said a woman’s voice.
Ralph and I turned around. The woman was tall and lithe, her long black hair worn plaited. She was dressed in tight black jeans, a pink leather jacket, and some kick-ass boots. She also wore a white David and Goliath T-shirt that said, “Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them!”
The most intriguing thing about her was her eyes. They were so gray they looked nearly translucent. It was creepy, her stare. Power emanated from her; she had a caged strength that I didn’t want to see unleashed. Her outline was a rainbow of shifting colors. I was amazed by her aura, since every other person I’d met, except for the doctor, had one single color.
She tilted her head at me. “Damn it. He got Sybina. Why the hell did she give you her soul?”
“What?” I gaped at her. “What?”
“Who’s Sybina?” asked Ralph.
“Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Ash,” said Brigid in her soothing way.
Ash was staring at Ralph. “You have some of Sybina’s energy, too. It’s like her soul was split in half.”
“That’s not exactly the beginning,” said Brigid.
Ash looked from Brigid to Ralph and me. “Oh, right. I’m Ash and I’ve come to slay the dragon.”
Ralph and I took a hurried step back. Ralph hit the wall and I smacked into Brigid.
“Oh, please. You’re not really dragons. A dragon is born, not made. You have Sybina’s magic and her fire, but your human sides dampen them. And since you split her energy, it’s less potent. It’s not like you’re going to go all scaly and sprout wings.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, not really feeling relieved. “If you’re not . . . uh, slaying us, why are you here?”
“Patsy and Gabriel gave me the four-one-one,” said Ash. “I just wanted to get a firsthand account. But now I know the ending of the story. Sybina gave you her soul.”
“And you wanted it,” said Brigid.
“She was gifting me with it,” said Ash. “We had a deal. But her brother Synd wanted it, too.”
“Well, you can have it,” I said. “How do I give it back to you?”
“If I sucked your soul out of your body,” she said, “you’d be mine forever. All of you, and not just the part of Sybina you carry within you.”
“Oh.” I swallowed the knot in my throat. Sheesh. This chick was more than a little scary. “Then I guess I’ll just keep it.”
“I’ve lived a long time in this world, and even I know little about dragons,” said Brigid, her gaze on Ash. “But you do.”
“Yeah. I’m a compendium of useless dragon facts. Fat lot of good it does me. I’m headed back to the mansion. I gotta put my two cents in on the battle plans.”
Battle plans? Oh, shit. The vampires were going to war with Synd . . . and PRIS was on its way to make things much, much worse. What the hell had I been thinking?
“Wait,” said Brigid. “Can vampires be poisoned by dragons?”
Ash’s eyebrows rose, and her expression was filled with disbelief. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me some schmuck got the bright idea of sucking dragon’s blood?”
I flinched. “Schmuck is kinda harsh.”
Her gaze was scathing. “You did it? I guess you have more dragon magic than I thought. Lucky it’s an easy fix. Gotta make a potion with dragon saliva, fairy sparkles, and a shot of bourbon.”
“What’s the bourbon for?” I asked.
“To get the taste of dragon spit out of your mouth.”
Brigid called Dr. Merrick, who arrived a few minutes later. Ash told her what was needed, and she gave Ash an assessing look. “I’ve never heard of this cure.”
“You ever had a patient suffering from dragon poisoning?”
“Point taken.” Dr. Merrick led the way into the room. A nurse arrived with specimen cups and a fifth of b
ourbon.
“Is whiskey medicinal?” I asked, amazed that they’d found alcohol so quickly.
“I believe in being prepared,” said Dr. Merrick primly. She handed me a specimen cup. “Spit.”
“Ew. Why can’t Ralph spit?”
“Both of you spit,” said Ash. “Better chance of this working. Where are the sparkles?”
“Here.” Brigid lifted her hand over an empty cup and sparkling gold flakes fell into it.
Ralph spit first, which was not sexy at all, thank you. I added my saliva to his and handed the cup to Dr. Merrick. She mixed everything together.
“Is this enough?” asked Dr. Merrick, looking at the slimy gold concoction. She sounded doubtful.
“Shouldn’t take that much,” said Ash. “The fairy sparkles increase the potency. Throw in the bourbon and get some straws.”
“Patrick and Jessica are comatose, so we’ll have to forego the straws.” Dr. Merrick poured in the bourbon and stirred. She glanced at the nurse. “I need a 3 ml syringe.”
I couldn’t watch the doctor shoot that gnarly drink in the vampires’ mouths. I turned away and stared at the blank wall. Ralph didn’t have a problem watching, but he did take my hand and squeeze. Man, he was really good at that comfort thing.
“How long does it take to work?” asked Brigid. Her voice held hope and excitement.
“Should be quick,” answered Ash. “Like I said, the fairy sparkles amp up its power.”
We waited. And waited. I got tired of staring at the wall and turned around. Patrick and Jessica didn’t look any better. Their outlines were both a fading blue. I didn’t want to say anything, but I knew the cure hadn’t worked.
Everyone turned their gazes to Dr. Merrick. She shook her head slightly. Brigid sank into a chair near the bed, her sad gaze on her grandson.
“Shit,” said Ash. “Looks like Libby was dragon enough to poison him, but not dragon enough to cure him.”
“How do you know it’s the spittle that’s not working?” asked Dr. Merrick.
“Seriously?” Ash rolled her eyes like that was the dumbest question she’d ever heard.
“Wait a minute. If our saliva isn’t strong enough to rid Patrick of the poison, then . . .” He trailed off, his gaze on mine.
“Yep,” said Ash. “We need a loogie from a real dragon.”
Chapter 16
Getting dragon spit was not something arranged easily. Ash agreed to bring up the saliva issue at Patsy’s meeting of the undead minds.
Since we had not been invited to the big war-planning party, Ralph and I got into his beat-up Honda and went to his house. I was so tired. My muscles ached and my head throbbed.
I was a dragon.
I held within me the soul of a creature so rare that not even a goddess knew much about it.
With these thoughts circling, I followed Ralph into his home. I felt the cold concrete even through the thick socks. Good thing it hadn’t snowed, though I could still feel that possibility in the whipping wind. I had no idea what I was going to do about shoes and clothes. I had bigger worries, though. Dragon attacks. PRIS rescue. Missing parents.
Ralph flipped on the lights. “I’ll shower first. While you’re taking one, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Okeydokey.” I yawned as I took off my coat and hung it on the hall tree in the foyer. When I looked at Ralph, I saw his eyes on my breasts, which were trying to pop out of the buttoned pajama top. My nipples were saying hello, mainly because it was so chilly in the house. But then they tightened and tingled because of Ralph’s attention.
“I’ll . . . uh, go take that shower now.” Ralph turned and hurried down the hall.
I wasn’t sure if I felt complimented or insulted.
I don’t know what little devil made me follow him. But I was surprised when Ralph headed toward the toddlers’ bedroom. He flicked on the light and went to sit on the bed nearest the door. He picked up the teddy bear and stroked its tiny head.
I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked around the frame to watch him. He was in so much pain. I felt badly for him, for all the vampire parents. Raising children was difficult enough when you were alive. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was if you were undead.
“Sometimes,” he said, looking up at me (I really should work on being more sneaky), “I think it would be best if the boys lived with their grandparents. If they lived with Maura and Harold, they’d have a more normal life—one lived in the sun. And they’d have everything they could ever want.”
“Money doesn’t buy love,” I said softly. “And no amount of trinkets could replace you, Ralph. You’re their father.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I miss them. I think it’s time they came home.”
He stood up and, for a moment, we just looked at each other. Then he broke eye contact, and whatever moment had been building between us was broken.
Ralph went to take his shower, and I went to the kitchen. I sat at the table, laying my head on its smooth surface. I’d barely closed my eyes when I felt Ralph tap my shoulder.
“That was fast,” I said, scooting away from the table.
“I also hold the world speed record for showering.” He grinned at me and winked. Oompa! Sexy, sexy man. It didn’t help that he’d only slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms. Yowzer. I really wanted to run my fingers through the damp curls on his chest.
“Toast okay?”
I pried my gaze off his pectorals. “I’d eat a cooked floor tile at this point.”
He laughed, and I went to the bathroom before I did something stupid, like toss Ralph to the floor and ride him like my new pony.
I didn’t want to think about sex, so I thought about food. Toast wasn’t all that appealing. I still craved meat and now I knew why. The dragon part of me was a carnivore. Would it be satisfied with a vegan lifestyle? I doubted it.
In the bathroom, I started the shower and shed my clothes. God, the water felt so good. I put my palms against the wall and leaned into the spray, letting the near scalding liquid pour over me. I wished it could drain away my betrayal as easily. I needed to tell Ralph what I’d done. Or maybe I should try to sneak in another phone call. Tell Brady to back off.
But what about Mom and Dad?
I felt like something was wrong, but not that they were dead. No. I would know that. They might be stuck in some hole somewhere. Maybe even hurt.
Ralph knocked on the door. “Hey, Libby?”
I turned off the water and peeked around the shower curtain. “Yeah?”
“Patsy called. She said you got a text message from your dad.”
So Patsy was the one holding on to my phone. I missed having my purse. It was like living without one of my arms. “What did it say?”
“Mom says hi. Call soon, pumpkin.”
Was it Dad? Or Brady pretending to be my father? Did it matter? Either way the message meant the same thing: My parents were okay. Oh, God. I nearly slid to the floor I was so relieved. “That’s great. Do you think I can call my parents later?”
“Maybe.” He paused, and I thought he’d walked away. Then he shouted, “Shit! The toast’s burning.”
I laughed as I got out of the shower and grabbed the towel Ralph had left for me. I had plenty of time to make a phone call and stop PRIS from showing up in Broken Heart. I had no idea what my parents had been doing for the last two days, but they’d obviously made it out of town without detection. It probably helped that Patsy and everyone else had been distracted.
I toweled off and redressed in my pajamas. When I opened the bathroom door, I could smell the charred bread. I hurried to the kitchen and found Ralph throwing away the toaster.
“Damned thing never worked right, but Therese would never let me get rid of it.”
“Wedding present?”
He nodded, then he turned toward the counter. I suppose it was easier to get rid of the bedroom furniture, to rid himself of things that held her fragrance, her touch, her memory. But the toaster . . . he hadn’t been ab
le to let go of it. Because she’d wanted to keep it.
“Tell me about Therese.”
Ralph turned and looked at me questioningly; a slice of half-buttered bread was in his hand. “Really?”
I nodded. “What was she like?”
“We met in Vegas in 2003. I was attending a bachelor party, and she was there because her parents were sponsoring some sort of museum opening in the Bellagio.
“I was enamored. She was so beautiful, and she had this wonderful laugh. She was the one who taught me to never make assumptions about people. She was raised in a family that worshipped money, but she never did.” He shook his head, smiling. “Her parents never thought I was good enough for her, but they sure warmed up after the twins were born.”
“Why did you come to Broken Heart?” I asked. “Why come to Oklahoma at all?”
“This house. We grew up here, but after my parents died, my sister and I went to live with our aunt and uncle in Tulsa. My sister lived here a while, but got married herself and moved to Missouri. Therese fell in love with the place.”
No, she’d fallen in love with Ralph and realized how uncomfortable he would’ve been in her world. So she’d settled into his. I liked her, this woman who’d found joy with the man who loved her, and not with what he could give her.
“The happiest times of my life were with her,” said Ralph. “When she died, it felt like part of me had died, too. But I had the boys. I had to be there for them.”
He stared at the floor, and I stayed quiet. I had seen my parents in this type of marital ritual. Dad was the listener, my mother the talker. Even so, I understood now those long silences during their conversations. It wasn’t really silence, it was patience and love. I think love involved a lot of waiting—waiting for your partner to talk or to kiss you or to come home.
And so I waited.
He sighed, and I knew he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. “We had such a short amount of time together. She died in 2006. Michael and Stephen had just turned a year old. I talk about her to the boys all the time. I don’t want them to forget her.”
If I wasn’t already head over heels for Ralph, I would’ve tipped over the edge right then. Yeah, yeah, I know. He was the Chachi to my Joanie, okay?
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home Page 11