“I’m not twelve, Wanda. I’m thirty-one, and I didn’t say a word about love, puppy or otherwise.” Lust—wee doggie, oh, yeah. Maybe a major crush. A severe case of the “I like yous.” But love took time, cultivation, wooing. A hamburger. A movie. Maybe Rollerblading. It didn’t involve demons who showed up looking like former lovers, or big blond women who wanted you dead because you threatened their food source. This wasn’t love, but what if it could be?
“Wanda?”
Casey flashed a look of irritation at her friend. “Nina?”
“Enough. Let’s go.”
“Not on your immortality. I’m not going anywhere until we figure this out.”
“Get up, Wanda, and move your ass. We’re going home. You’re going home and letting Casey be a big girl for the time being. We’ll go find Greg and see what this is about. Then we’re going to present Casey with her options. Whatever they are—or if there are any at all—not solutions. Because it isn’t up to us to decide what’s right for her. It’s up to her. So step off and give the kid some room to friggin’ breathe. For now, she’s safe. Clay’s here. Back the fuck away.”
Wanda’s disbelief was evident. “Did you suck on Marty’s neck?”
Nina gave her the finger. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Are you kidding me? Exactly when did you get so reasonable? You just gave me perspective. The only person who comes close to that besides me is Marty.”
Nina popped her lips, pointing to the door. “Go.”
Wanda, lips pursed, vibrant anger simmering just beneath her calm exterior, gave Casey a hug, but said nothing.
“Let me know what you find out from Greg, okay?” Casey kissed her sister on the cheek and smiled, trying to offer a reassurance she wasn’t sure she felt. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Just let me figure this out. I swear, if I need you, I’ll call.”
Her sister pivoted on her low-heeled boot and headed for the door.
Before Nina followed her, Casey stopped her. “Um, Nina?”
“Yep?”
Casey’s feet shuffled, her eyes cast downward. “Thanks. I know I’ve been anything but nice to you, and now I’m guessing that’s because of this transference thing, but I appreciate you getting Wanda off my back. I don’t think she realizes I’m not so little anymore.”
Nina grabbed her by the chin, tilting it so Casey’s eyes gazed into her own. “I don’t think Wanda realizes me and Marty aren’t her kid sisters, either. She can be crazy overbearing with her reason, and doing the right thing. All she wants to do is help you because you’re her kid sister, ya know? But I get that sometimes you just need space. I also get that you need to find your way out of this on your own. I’m not sure why you’re so fucking determined to do it, but that’s how I read it. You’ve got some kind of chip on your shoulder about being a big girl, and taking care of your own shiz. We just want to help because no matter how big you are, this paranormal crap needs a shoulder to lean on every now and then ’cause it’s kooky. But I’m warning you, this isn’t an easy road to travel. With everything else you’ve got going on, adding a mating to the mix just ain’t kosher. Now the advice portion of this convo is over. So go be the big girl you say you are, and call us if you need us, okay?”
Casey smiled, warmth lighting it. “You’re not nearly as scary as you’d like everyone to think, are you?”
Nina popped her under her chin with a finger. “Yeah? Well, you oughtta see me when I’m around a bucket of chicken wings I can’t eat because I yark ’em all up. That’s scary. Check ya later,” she said with a gruff laugh.
Casey shut the door behind them, leaning her forehead against it, taking a deep breath. Space. She definitely needed space to figure out the most amazing sex she’d ever had—and what to do about the fact that doing more of what they’d done last night would only deepen what she was feeling when she looked at him lying on the couch fast asleep. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could hide feelings like that well. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was able to detach herself about something so intimate. Whacked-out hormones or not, making love with Clay had meant something.
What was the question.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”
Casey whipped around to find Clay awake, a green towel wrapped around his waist. Her inside voice groaned. Did this man not need any primping to look good? Was it fair that she had morning breath and bedhead and he was just as perfect as he’d been the night before? Rippled abs, lean hips, thick thighs, and all. “See what day?”
“The day Nina actually extended a hand in kindness. Showed a little sympathy. Each time I see her, she continues to grow into someone almost likeable. I think Rapture is closer than we think.”
Casey threw her head back and laughed. “So look who’s conveniently awake. How ironic that you could sleep through all of that screaming, and only wake up when it’s all over.”
He cocked his luscious head, the long sweep of his sandy hair falling over his eye. “Screaming?”
“Forget it. Wanda was here with Nina, too, but everything’s okay. So now that you’ve slept—we have to talk.”
“Can’t it wait until I shower?”
She looked at the clock on the wall and smiled. “You’ve got twenty minutes, and then you’re spilling everything, mate.”
He turned toward the bedroom he’d chosen without saying a word, letting the towel drop along the way.
God, he was arrogant. And he had a fab ass—an arrogant, fab ass. “I mean it!” she yelled after him, running to her own room to grab a quick shower and, well, primp.
Soaping up, Casey tried to stop picking apart last night. So Clay hadn’t had sex in a long time. She refused to flog her ego with that fact. And she wasn’t going to dwell on it, either. It had been a pretty awesome encounter, this vampire sex. She had to leave well enough alone and not psychoanalyze it to death.
Though, while she dressed, squeezing into the tightest jeans she owned, jeans that actually made her ass with the L on it not look half bad, she did what she was trying so hard not to do. Torture herself with all sorts of questions only a jealous lover should be asking.
Like—how many women had he done that with before Hildegard? Had he done that with Hildegard?
’Cause that had been amazing.
Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she made a face. She certainly wasn’t slinky like Hildegard—she looked like a teenager. That she was comparing herself to Hildegard made her want to heave. Clay didn’t even like Hildegard.
Yeah, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like fistfuls of blondeness with legs longer than a Celine Dion note, now, did it?
Throwing her brush down in disgust, she grabbed her knitting bag and headed for the couch, forcing a casual entry into the living room.
Clay was already there, watching a football game, remote in one hand, newspaper in the other.
He cocked an eyebrow. “You knit.”
“Yep. Wanna make something of it?”
“Not unless we’re talking crocheting, then I’m all about a good smackdown.”
Laughing, she unwrapped the yarn, drawing calm from the comforting familiarity. “You ought to try it—it’s very soothing.” Her knitting needles clacked together in a calming rhythm of knit one, pearl two.
“I can’t think of anything I’d less like to do. Except maybe decoupage.”
“It might take your mind off your troubles.”
“I don’t have any troubles—well, except you, mate.” He smirked at her over the newspaper.
Ire prickled her fingers. “I don’t want to be a repetitive nag, but it wasn’t me who dumped demon blood on you, then turned me into your mate, mate.”
His eyes remained fixed on the paper, refusing to look at her. “You win. I give.”
Hellz, no. He wasn’t going to put her off by playing dead. “So, you wanna talk?”
“About?”
“About your marriage made in Hell. Like, the literal Hell.”
“Nope.”
“Why not? Don’t you think it might help you to let it out?”
“I don’t.”
“You’d much rather be all brooding and sulky about it?”
His laughter was sharp. “Is that what I am?”
“Please. All this secrecy—all this dark glowering at everyone whenever they mention your wife. Yes. That’s what you are, and it’s grown old. Lighten up.”
“I’ll try and make a more meaningful effort to be all sunshiny.” His amused sarcasm was clear
“Good. Because you did say I had every right to pry. Consider this prying. So let’s start with how this went down.”
“No.”
“Oh, c’mon. Maybe it’ll be therapeutic.”
“And maybe not.”
She crossed her legs beneath her—not an easy task in jeans she could hardly breathe in, but she hoped to come off casual, chatty, versus confrontational. “Okay, so how about this. How did you become a vampire? How old are you? I can’t believe I’m asking that and someone hasn’t come to carry me off to the local mental hospital, but I have to admit, I’m eaten up with curiosity. So what’s your deal? Wanda told me about Greg and Heath—was it like that for you?”
“In many ways.”
“Okay, let me just clue you in on this thing called conversation. If we’re going to spend all of this time together mated—or at least until I’m properly trained in the ways of the demon, and we figure my predicament out—it’d be nice if we could talk to each other from time to time and not have to avoid certain touchy subjects. So, here we go, and I’d like at least a full sentence. Please. How old are you?”
“A lot older than you.”
She nudged his arm with her finger, sending him a teasing smile. “Look at you, participating. Okay, so how much older?”
“Centuries.”
“How many—and I warn you, I want a full sentence.”
“I was turned in the year 798.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Turned into a vampire?”
He gave her a bland look.
She sighed. “Sorry. Of course you meant a vampire.” Casey frowned, then smiled with mischief in her eyes. “Boy howdy.You’re old. You want me to see if I can hook you up with a wheelchair—maybe some Ben-Gay?”
“You want me to hook you up with a roll of duct tape and a gag?”
Casey giggled. “Holy cow—the man’s sense of humor’s returned. So this is good, right? Us all communicating. So, next question. Who turned you into a vampire? I mean, why would someone do something so ugly like that?”
“Revenge.”
“It’s full-sentence time. Revenge for what?”
“A Viking raid.”
“Omigod—you were a Viking?”
“I was.”
“Wow. Who’d you piss off?”
“A vampire.”
“Who was a Viking, too?”
“Your powers of deduction are amazing.”
“Don’t be a wisenheimer.”
“Don’t I get credit for using a full sentence?” He chuckled.
“You’re back in black. So what did you do to make this Viking vampire angry?”
“I stole his lunch money.”
“Be serious.”
“I raided his ship.”
She winced. “Oh. I’m guessing that went badly.”
“Well, no. The raid went off without a hitch—it was the aftermath that became a shit wreck.”
“He was tweaked you raided his ship, huh?”
“Nah—he was in love with it. So much so, he spread his happiness near and far.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Lame question. So, you were turned into a vampire. . . . I guess you did all the typical stuff like ‘boo hoo—this sucks. I can’t believe I’ll never eat oxen again. I’m going to live forever, blah, blah, blah.’ Then what?”
“Oxen and I had a sorrowful parting?”
“Stop making this so difficult. How did you end up with Hildegard? If you had to mate with her on your five hundredth birthday, that means it was 1298—which was more than seven hundred years ago—and I’m not going to linger on the math of this because I still can’t wrap my brain around it. So I repeat, in 1298, how did people get together?”
His wide shoulders shrugged. “How does anyone get together with anyone?”
Her shoulders hunched in a shrug. “I don’t know? Nowadays, it’s the Internet or speed dating. Both a complete waste of time, by the way. So did you date? Did people even date back then? Oh, wait! Were you betrothed? You know, the whole dowry thing?”
“No.”
“You’re headed for the red zone, pal. How did you and Hildegard end up in this not so connubial bliss?”
“I was turning five hundred. My choices were few.”
“Yeaaaah. That’s been troubling me. Wanna know why?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Do you want one?”
“Yes.”
She giggled again, gazing at him from hooded eyes. “Then no. You have no choice. So here’s what’s been bugging me. You just don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d cop to marriage—even if it meant death to get out of it. Being all stoic and serious like you are with all these principles and such, you seem much more like the kind of guy who’d rather be dead than hitched to some woman for eternity.You joke a lot but when it comes to Hildegard, you’re not laughing. So what’s the dealio?”
“Maybe I’m not as principled as you think. Maybe I’m just an egotistical asshole who wants to live forever?”
“Nice. That was two sentences. But maybe you’re lying to keep me from finding out something. I just can’t figure what it is.”
“Then here’s my suggestion—stop trying.”
“Why are you making it so hard to be friends?”
“I don’t need more friends. And friends don’t do what we did last night.”
Her face flushed, but she wouldn’t be daunted. “You didn’t need another mate, either, but here we are. Besides, you can never have enough friends, and if we have to be chained to each other until I’m deemed independent enough to strike out in the demon world on my own, would it kill you to be my friend?”
He gave her another bland stare.
“Right. Sorry. You’re already dead. Forgive my insensitivity.”
“Forgiven.”
Christ, there was just no budging this man when he didn’t want to budge. “Good. So seeing as you’re not budging on Hildegard I’ll let it be—for now. But that’s all in the spirit of friendship. Friends do that for each other when they need space.”
“Thank you for recognizing my spatial needs,” he joked with that disarming grin.
“So now that we’re friends, I’ll tell you something meaningless and inconsequential about me—like, not super-deep stuff—and you do the same. Deal?”
His silence was deafening.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Okay—like this—here goes. Let’s see. Oh, I know. Music . . . I like Yanni. No. I love him. Nothing beats a bubble bath with Yanni in the CD player.”
“You mean the guy who plays the piano?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t find that at all surprising.”
Oh, really. “Why?”
“The romantic in you is pretty obvious. I’d bet you have a deep affection for kittens and snuggling on the couch, too.”
And if she did? “So what you’re saying is you don’t like kittens? Who doesn’t like kittens?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I like animals just fine. I especially like your goldfish, Shark. What I’m saying is you’re a romantic—easy to spot.”
He said it like it was a disease. “What’s your problem with romantics?”
His wide shoulders rose and fell. “Oh, I dunno. Could it be that I’m mated to someone who drives me bat-shit? It doesn’t get any less romantic. And I don’t have a problem with romantics. Don’t pick fights where there are none.”
Team Clay—one. “Okay�
��so forget the romance thing. What kind of music do you like?”
“Nine Inch Nails.”
“I don’t find that at all surprising.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re as bipolar as their music. All fun and games one minute, serious as a heart attack the next.”
“I prefer to think of it as music that makes you think.”
“Or want to cut yourself.”
He laughed and conceded, “Okay, it definitely has some darker elements.”
“What kind of food do you like?” She frowned. Shit. He didn’t eat. “Never mind, scratch that. It was insensitive of me.” So much for small talk. What did you talk about with a vampire? How many knots per second he could fly?
“No, actually, I can eat from time to time. I just have to be careful, and I don’t do it often. I love the smell of Italian food. Especially pizza. Ever since it was invented. There was this place down in the village called Angelina’s and every time I had to walk past it, I wanted to go in and get a slice, but I never got around to it, and they ended up closing.”
“I love pizza, too, but not quite the way I love French food. I love escargot. Love it.”
Clay made a face.
She waved a hand at him. “I know, I know. It’s not like a bag of chips and a beer. It’s for the discriminate food connoisseur. Of which I am—and I’m very happy as a demon I can still eat food. I’d be very sad if I couldn’t still eat.”
He shuddered. “It’s not discriminate, it’s disgusting. Snails are slimy and they live in dark places.”
“Speaking of dark, I guess when you’ve lived as long as you have, you’ve seen some pretty dark stuff. Like Hildegard . . .”
“Casey . . .”
“Look, fair is fair. My past isn’t what started this—it was yours with the big blonde. So just tell me what happened because it’s clearly what led us to where we are. Mated. You know, like an episode of Big Love gone awry.”
“Okay. You’re right. Fair is fair. So here it is. Hildegard forced me to mate with her. It had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with happening against my will. Now that I’ve debased my manhood, do you want to try and make me cry, too?”
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