Here Comes the Vampire (Dead End Dating)

by Kimberly Raye

  I’d even made a nice little sum off of Viola last year when I’d hooked her and the other NUNS up with a bunch of fertile males just in time for the lunar eclipse, aka baby making time for all female wolves.

  They’d procreated, I’d cashed the check, and bam, Viola and I had become instant friends. I’d even given her and the others a joint baby shower. The main course? Lots and lots of red meat.

  “What did she do now?” I asked my dad.

  “She and those other beasts have been running wild, pooping all over our property and ruining my precious grass.”

  “Isn’t poop a fertilizer?”

  My father’s face went from grim to murderous. “They’re werewolves,” he replied as if he’d just voiced the forbidden Kinkos (Moe’s biggest competitor). “Just a hint of werewolf excrement is sure to ruin the delicate balance of my pristine vampere grass. This stuff is straight from the old country. An ancient soil recipe handed down through the generations. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get it this lush? This green?”

  I knew how hard our gardener, Jean Pierre, worked. My pops, on the other hand, spent most of his time admiring the lawn and telling Jean Pierre when and where to water.

  “Viola knows I’m up for Lawn of the Year with the homeowner’s association,” my dad went on. “They just announced the finalists in last week’s newsletter. Why, I bet she was green with envy.” He wagged a finger. “Which explains why she’s trying to blow my chances. She wants to kill off as much of my beautiful Elymas and Festuca as possible so she can weasel in on my award.”

  “Okay, I thought we were talking about grass.”

  “Mine are ornamental grass types specifically geared for a cold season lawn. They can withstand temperature, but not a bunch of werewolf feces. Why, it’s sure to throw off the delicate mineral balance what with all that iron. Viola knows that and she’s trying to destroy my lawn on purpose.”

  While I knew Viola liked to get under my dad’s skin, I still couldn’t picture her sneaking onto our property just to cop a squat in the yard.

  To plant a few sticks of dynamite, maybe.

  “Maybe it’s one of the neighborhood dogs,” I pointed out.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “I mean a real dog. Don’t the Smiths up the road have two St. Bernards?”

  “No St. Bernhard did this.” He indicated the large plastic bag sitting near the edge of the front veranda, next to a concrete planter overflowing with fall annuals.

  My nostrils flared and the stench hit me. I grimaced. “What about the Fredericks?” I tried again. “They’ve got Great Danes.”

  “These piles are too big, even for a pair of Great Danes. It has to be those werewolves.” He held up his chainsaw and gave it a maniacal wave like Jason from a Friday the 13th flick. “But it stops tonight.”

  “Does mom know you’re out here with a dangerous power tool?” While Jacqueline Marchette had no love for Viola or her kind, she knew my father tended to go overboard. Since she wasn’t in any hurry to have him doing fifty to life--particularly since life for a vamp was a very, very long time—she typically talked him down and defused any situation. “She’ll flip. You know that, right?”

  He stiffened. “Your mother is at a Huntress meeting.”

  “Since when do they meet on Sundays?”

  “They don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s just a one-time thing since your mother decided to cancel hunt night.”

  While humans had the traditional dinner where they gathered once a week to drive each other crazy, we Marchettes had the hunt.

  Back in the old days—pre-Chanel—families had hunted together in packs. But since we born vamps had come into a new enlightened era and now did dinner in a much more civilized way—bottled gourmet—we no longer risked discovery ced n vamps haby going out and scouring the countryside for sustenance.

  Even so, that didn’t mean we should let our survival instincts get soft. At least, as far as my dad was concerned. He felt it his duty to make sure that his children were fully capable of hunting should we find ourselves in a real world crisis where bottling factories fell off the face of the earth and chaos reigned supreme. And so he kept up the Sunday hunt tradition.

  Only now we hunted each other—the it person. The prize? Extra vacation days from Moe’s which suited my brothers just fine. They hadn’t missed a hunt in ages. Since I wasn’t now nor had I ever been (at least not that I would admit) employed by Moe’s, I wasn’t nearly as revved about the weekly gathering.

  Thankfully, my mother had cancelled this week because of the Vegas trip and my recent commitment to Remy.

  “She’s so busy with the upcoming reception that she decided to call an emergency meeting. To get everyone in the club involved and lighten some of her workload.”

  Or to brag.

  Especially to brag.

  “Not that I need her permission,” my dad went on. “This is my property and I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect the integrity of my lawn. If that means hiding out until I catch Viola in the act of desecrating my precious grass, then I’ll be here.”

  My dad. Outside. All night. With a chainsaw.

  I smiled. Riley and his stake didn’t stand a chance.

  “You go for it, Dad. Show her who’s the HVIC.” That’s short for head vamp in charge.

  He eyed the suitcase and a knowing smile spread across his face. “It’s about time you gave up all that dating nonsense and moved back home. Your mother was starting to wonder, but I knew it was just a matter of time. We’re Marchettes, dear. We simply can’t function without maid service and a cellar full of imported blood.”

  “I haven’t given up my dating service. My apartment is being fumigated.”

  “But you don’t breathe, dear.”

  “I know that, but my landlord doesn’t. They’re kicking everyone out for a few days.” I shrugged. “I figured I could crash in my old room. Just for a few days,” I added when he got this gleam in his eye. “And I don’t need a job either since I already have one.”

  “Of course you do. You’ll be raising my grandbabies in no time. Speaking of which, why aren’t you staying with Remy?”

  “It’s bad luck to see the commitment mate before the ceremony.”

  “We already had the ceremony. Saturday is just the reception.”

  “Yes, but we’re re-committing beforehand so that the guests get to share in the joyful moment. I don’t want to jinx it by staying at Remy’s place.” Okay, now I was grasping at straws, but I was banking on the fact that my dad was so pre-occupied with Viola that he wouldn’t spare too much thought to the words coming out of my mouth.

  “That’s nice.” His gaze scoured the lawn. “Time to get back on watch. Make yourself at home, dear.” He moved then, little more than a black blur as he zipped over to a large statue that sat near the corner of the house. He ducked behind and just like that, I was alone on the doorstep.

  My brain stuck on the word grandbabies.

  No. Not now. Not with Remy.

  I held tight to the vow, shook off a rush of the heebie jeebies and walked into the massive house. I retrieved a bottle of my father’s favorite stash from the warmer in the kitchen and then headed upstairs to the small suite of rooms at the far end of the West wing.

  The room was just the way I’d left it—Vera Bradley bedding, pale purple walls, white furniture, blinged out lamps. It was ultra feminine and a little immature for me n cturit—Verow, but I loved it anyway because it was the only room in the house that truly felt like home. Cozy. Warm. Human even.

  Not that I had a hard-on for humans. I loved being a born vampere with all the perks—great hair, great bod, plenty of money. Okay, so that last one applied to other born vamperes who didn’t have a fledgling business and massive credit card debt, but you get the idea. Being a vamp totally rocked. Most of the time.

  But there were those moments when I found myself thinking about what it would be like to watch the sun rise and
feel the warmth on my skin and scarf down an entire box of Godiva chocolates.

  I tamped down the crazy longing that whispered through me, sat the travel bag on the bed and opened it up so that Killer could waltz out and eye his surroundings.

  “Cool, huh?”

  Too many flowers. He stuck up his nose. Too much pink. And purple. And yellow. And, what the hell is up with all these frills? I feel emasculated just standing here.

  “Not yet, but I’d be happy to find a pair of scissors and help you with that.” I gave him the Evil eye for a long moment before he slunk backwards and settled atop a plush pink pillow near the headboard. He gave me a look that said You have to sleep sometimes and then it’s me and those shoes, baby, and it ain’t gonna be pretty, and then he closed his eyes.

  Just to be safe, I pulled off my stilettos and stashed them on the highest shelf in my closet before collapsing onto the pillows piled atop my king-sized bed.

  I stared at the ceiling and mulled over the night’s events—from Ash’s desperate need for a victim, er, that is a virgin, to Mr. Fairweather and his dearly departed Adelia, to sick Evie and crazy Riley, to Killer’s threat against my fave pair of shoes. On top of that, there was the real disaster—Remy and my spiral down the Vegas drain.

  My eyes started to burn and I sniffled.

  I so needed to get up and do something that didn’t involve crying and moaning and listening to Killer purr maniacally.

  Yep, he was definitely enjoying my misery.

  I glared at him for a long moment, but short of grabbing the scissors off my desk and following through on my threat, I knew he wasn’t going to take me seriously.

  I didn’t blame him. My bark packed a lot more punch than my bite when it came to small, defenseless animals—even annoying ones.

  Instead, I rolled onto my stomach, pulled out my iPod and headphones, and stuck the buds into my ears. Just like that, I tuned out everything except Robin Thicke singing about blurred lines and good girls and how much I wanted it.

  The tune was upbeat and soon I was humming and feeling more like myself. I pushed off the bed, changed into a Gucci tank top and some Juicy sweat pants. Grabbing my laptop and the bag of DVDs, I collapsed back onto the bed, determined to fix my problems instead of wallowing in them.

  First up?

  The biggee.

  Two hours into the first DVD, I started to nod off. It didn’t help that Killer had given up the snoring and gone bye-bye to Sleepy Land for real. Now when I pulled off my headset, the only thing I heard was the hum of the air conditioner and a faint snore carrying through the open French doors from the veranda below.

  I left the laptop and walked over to the massive glass that opened out onto a small patio. I looked out and spotted my dad’s shadow still slumped behind the statue. The chainsaw lay forgotten at his feet. His head bobbed. His nostrils flared. The snore grew louder, wheezier, and I found myself re-thinking the whole I’ll-be-safe-with-my-folks thing. Especially when I started to close the doors and felt the strange prickling sensation whisper along my skin.

  The same c"4%ezie feeling I’d had in the storage room just a split second before Riley had waltzed into Dead End Dating.

  My gaze moved left then right, my extraordinary eyesight pushing back the shadows to sweep up and down the lush grass. Empty except for a few steaming piles left just for my father during his impromptu nap.

  Was it Viola I was sensing? Her and the other NUNS?

  I wanted to think so, but this felt different. I knew Viola and while she could be very intimidating, particularly during a full moon, she’d never been outright dangerous.

  I was definitely sensing a threat.

  I searched the area a few more seconds before shaking away the strange sensation. Even if Riley had followed me here, he wouldn’t make a move while I was here with my family.

  Right?

  I closed the French doors, threw the lock and headed back to the bed. Reaching for my headset, I scrolled through the playlist on my iPod. Miley Cyrus belted in my ears, proclaiming to the world that it was her party and she could do whatever she wanted. From kissing to talking to whatever.

  If only.

  But Miley wasn’t on the run from stake-wielding Riley, or stuck in Connecticut with her bloodsucking parents, or this close to spending her afterlife with the wrong vampire. Add a snotty cat and an impending sense of doom that said things were about to go from bad to worse.

  A tear slid down my cheek and I slapped it away.

  Okay, I told myself. Okayyyyy. So what if my afterlife was now in the toilet and I didn’t see a way to climb back out before the first major flush? All I had to do was stay afloat until I could fi

  nd the elevator footage, prove that Remy and I had NOT done the deed, return the tapes, and all before Ty came home.

  Easy peasy.

  I held tight to my optimism, focused on the DVDs and settled in for what was sure to be a very long night.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I told you she needed a lot of work...”

  My mother’s voice peeled back the blanket of sleep I was currently buried under and slid into my ears.

  “...that hair and those nails and, oh, we definitely have to do something about her complexion,” the voice went on. “She’s a vampire, for Damien’s sake. She should be pale.”

  “We definitely need pale,” chime in a second voice.

  “Or alabaster,” another voice agreed. “Alabaster would be good.”

  “A few minutes with my skin specialist and she’ll be back to vapid in no time,” my mother assured everyone.

  Wait a second.

  I cracked one eye open and stared at the trio of women looming over me, contemplating the fate of my new Bronzed Bellini spray tan.

  One was a very regal looking blonde with blood red lips and enough eye makeup to make Lady Gaga jealous, the other a tall redhead with the same bright red lipstick. The women stood on either side of my mother who looked as tastefully put together as ever in a black Gucci shift dress and Cartier diamond earrings.

  “However did she get this color in the first place?” Jacqueline Marchette pursed her full lips and frowned down at me as if looking at a bug under a microscope.

  “I paid primo bucks for it at an upscale salon in Manhattan.”

  “You paid for a tan?” the redhead quipped. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I told you, Louise,” my mother waved a perfectly manicured hand, “she hasn’t been thinking clearly what with all the worry about when and if she would ever find a suitable commitment mate. She’s been doing her best to f"4%ezhatdistract herself with that dating service, but I knew it was just a matter of time before she cracked like a cheap coffin.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Louise shook her luscious red hair and looked appropriately shocked. “All twelve of my daughters have been committed for ages.”

  “That’s only because they settled for the first vampire who happened along with a penis.” While Jacqueline could badmouth one of her own, she wasn’t going to let someone else join in. “Everyone knows that your girls have zero taste.”

  “I’ll have you know all of them ended up with more than suitable matches.”

  “Like Wallace Dupree?” Jacqueline arched an eyebrow. “He’s committed to your youngest, right?”

  “What’s wrong with Wallace? He owns a very lucrative pest control company.”

  “Exactly. He chases bugs for a living, which is fine for his assistants. But he’s a vampire, dear. Not Renfield.”

  “He likes to stay hands on with the business.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that, except my Lil wanted better. She was waiting for that perfect match, weren’t you darling?”

  Darling? Me?

  “Um, could you all just step back for a second. My brain is starving for lack of oxygen. I need to breathe.”

  “Breathe?” My mother looked at her friends as if I’d just cracked the funniest joke. “Isn’t she witty, too?”


  “My Helen is witty,” chimed in the blonde. “That’s what landed her a mortgage broker with international holdings in Greece.”

  “Overseas holdings? Really, Allison?” Jacqueline shook her head. “You know any American vampire worth his salt keeps his livelihood right here in the U.S. Why, Lil’s Remy has grown his security firm into a national organization, with over eighty branches in forty different states. He’s quite the catch. Or he was.” She beamed and my stomach hollowed out.

  “About that—“ The words stuck in my throat and I swallowed. I know, I know. She was my mother. She’d given birth to me. Fed me. Nurtured me. She wasn’t going to end my existence if I happened to disagree with her.

  At the same time, she was my mother. She’d given birth to me. Fed me. Nurtured me. She wasn’t going to end my existence if I happened to disagree with her.

  No, she would make me suffer long and hard instead.

  Especially if I disagreed with her in front of her two closest frenemies.

  “Ma, he’s not really my Remy. He’s—“

  “Time to get up and get dressed,” she cut in. “Now.” She eyed the suitcase sitting nearby. “On second thought, maybe we can stop off at Eileen’s Boutique for something more appropriate on our way to your makeover.”

  “A makeover?”

  “You can’t very well show up at the reception looking like this.” She motioned to me in my tank and sweats, my hair mussed. I glanced in a nearby mirror and saw the black rimming my eyes thanks to lack of sleep and a few too many tears.

  “Not that you’ll have to live like this for much longer,” my mom rushed on. “You’ll have Remy and a Visa Gold Card. Every day will be spa day. Oh, and I hear his company has a wonderful health insurance policy. And dental.”

  “My fangs are fine, Ma.”

  “And he’s got round the clock maid service at his place.”

  “I actually like cleaning now. It sort of grows on you.”