How did anyone force this man to do anything? It was preposterous. “Forced . . .”
Clay gave her the white flag look. “Yes, Casey, forced. I was fully prepared to end my immortality on my five hundredth birthday. Hildegard wasn’t exactly above letting me know she wanted to mate with me just prior to. But I didn’t want to mate with her. So much so, I was willing to go to my death because of it. She didn’t much like that. So she took matters into her own hands and fed from me while I was in vampire sleep, thus mating us—for eternity. And here’s something else that, while ironic, doesn’t exactly work in my favor. I think, before I was turned, I had what is now called narcolepsy. I was prone to drifting off during the day when I was human. Right in the middle of everything.”
“Damned inconvenient if your ship’s being raided, huh?”
“Exactly. But to make matters worse, I think being turned exacerbated my narcoleptic issues. It’s why I warn you that when I’m due for vampire sleep and I’m a couple of hours into the process, there’s just no waking me. Becoming a vampire seems to have magnified my narcoleptic attacks, and my vampire sleep can’t be thwarted like it can with some.”
“So she was already a demon when she met you?”
“She was.”
“And she basically planned this, knowing you were the force that could sustain her? That’s sick.” Jesus. Casey’s stomach roiled.
“She sold her soul to the devil. It doesn’t get much more twisted than that.”
“So this feeding thing—that troubles me a little. Okay, a lot. It freaks me out.What does it mean? How does it work in Hildegard’s favor? Wanda told me a little, but she didn’t give me the deets, and it had nothing to do with it keeping her here on Earth. She made it sound almost . . . sexy, for lack of a better word.”
“When you’re mated like Wanda and Heath, it can be the height of a sexual encounter. But in this case it’s anything but. Feeding from me, a vampire with eternal life, thereby gives Hildegard eternal life. She has to drink my blood to do it. If she doesn’t feed from me at least once a year, she’ll be sent to the bowels of Hell to serve her time, something she’s escaped all these centuries. She certainly won’t be shopping and partying—which is what Hildegard loves to do.”
Casey’s knitting needles stopped clacking. She just couldn’t wrap her head around the concept. “But—how—I mean, how does she feed from you without you knowing? Why do you let her?”
The look of contempt on his face spread from his eyes to his full lips. “I don’t let her, Casey. She comes when I’m asleep—the kind I just explained to you. When I’m in my deepest state is when I believe the effects of my human narcolepsy are transferred to my vampirism. That’s when she comes.”
She nodded solemnly. The coma. Freaky. Then anger reared its familiar head. What a sneaky, fucked up thing to do. It was akin to putting sperm from a condom in a turkey baster and inseminating yourself. What. A. Hardcore. Bitch. Casey put down her knitting needles and clenched her fists at her side.
“I have no control over it, and to my detriment, Hildegard knows that. Clearly, the advantage is all hers.”
“So basically, you’re just a pawn to her. A means to an end.”
“Yes.”
“Yet, if you mate with anyone else, you’ll be shunned? How absolutely insane.”
“It is what it is, Casey.”
“Do the same rules apply to Hildegard?” How could that be if what the man in the coffee shop said about their encounter was true?
“They do.”
And then it hit her, and she spoke before thinking. “Well, that explains Bendy Bob.” She remembered what the demon in the coffee shop had said about his and Hildegard’s sexual encounter. Hildegard might not be literally consummating anything, but wasn’t she the creative one?
“Bendy who?”
Her face flushed. “Never mind. So there’s no way out? You’ll have to live for an eternity like this, after she duped you? There must be someone to appeal to.”
His face grew dark. Big surprise.
“Do not clam up on me, Clayton Gunnersson. Don’t. We’ve come this far, let’s go all the way. From the look on your face, there is a way out. Spill.”
“Her demon blood mixed with some concoction whose origins are unknown—at least to me. An antidote to this fiasco—or at least the hope of one—an antidote that took a hundred years to perfect, according to my source.”
“Holy shit! That blood you dumped on me at the club was the antidote?” Oh, Jesus Christ. She’d stolen his one opportunity to free himself from that whack.
“Yes.”
“And how do you know for sure it was going to work?”
“I didn’t. Look, Casey, I’d searched a long time—several hundred years—for a way out of this mess. The clan doesn’t want to hear about trickery in mating—they’re not interested in sob stories. Your mate is your mate—no matter the species. I’d exhausted what I thought was every avenue, until I heard about this shaman who claimed to have an antidote. I’d just met him at the club when I ran into you.”
“But wait—if you needed Hildegard’s blood to make this antidote, how did you get it? If she’s, er, drinking from you when you sleep, how did you get some of her blood to make this antidote?”
Clay’s smile was wry. “I know some demons—demons who don’t like Hildegard. That wasn’t the hardest part. It was getting this shaman to help me make the remedy for this shit pile. That took time, and research, and a fuck load of patience.”
“So call him up, for shit’s sake! Get some more.”
His laughter was brittle, leaving Casey desolate and not so hopeful. “Easier said than done. I haven’t been able to find him since that night. It isn’t like he left me his name and address. The demon world is very secretive. I imagine he wouldn’t want many to know about him.”
“So it was me who ruined your chance to be free of Hildegard.” The pit of her stomach bubbled in discontent.
“No, Casey. It was circumstance that ruined my chances—not you.”
“So what are the chances you’ll ever be able to find this shaman again?”
“I’ve had Darnell on the lookout for some time, but he can’t get a line on anything. No solid leads.”
“Okay, so here’s another question. If being mated to Hildegard has sucked hairy balls, why didn’t you just end it all like you wanted to in the first place? You know, have a friend stake you—hit the beach at high noon?”
His eyes didn’t waver, but his face grew softer, a contrast to his next statement. “As foolish and vengeful as this sounds, it became about beating Hildegard at her own game.”
Men. Win at all costs. “So you’ve stayed mated to her all this time, never had another relationship, can’t, you know, get jiggy with anyone—well, besides me now—all just to spite her?”
“Everything’s so much clearer now.”
Rolling her eyes, Casey scoffed. “I’m just talking this out. I’m a mere ex-human, feeling her way around in the dark closet of the paranormal. You guys have some absolutely mind-boggling rules and regulations. I’m just trying to understand. So here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he said on a grin.
“You do so. With that in mind, I’m just going to say it. Since you’ve been mated to Hildegard, have you, you know, exercised your marital rights?”
Finally, his eyes met hers. “Nope.”
Holy celibate. “You mean, you and—and—”
“Hildegard and I have never consummated a physical relationship. Only the one etched in blood. Close your mouth, and be careful with those needles. I wouldn’t want you to poke yourself with one.”
Squeeeeeeeee! “So last night . . .”
“Was a long time since 1298. Or maybe it was 1295. I can’t remember when I last engaged in the art of the humpty-hump.”
“But that’s centuries.
. . .”
“Again, your talent for stark realism astounds me.”
“That you haven’t killed Hildegard astounds me.”
His look was pointed. “It wasn’t for lack of at least trying to be free of her. Besides, our clan has a strict policy about violence unless it’s warranted. Unfair acts of mating don’t qualify. And I didn’t necessarily want her expunged, just gone. But she’s always with me.”
“With you? You mean that metaphorically, don’t you? And I only ask because this kooky gig has some pretty strange nuances.”
“No, this kooky gig means it’s literal. When you’re mated by blood, you can always sense your mate. Sometimes it takes time to develop, but I can always feel Hildegard with me.”
Her mouth fell open again.
“Your mouth’s open again.”
She snapped it shut. “Explain feel. . . .”
“I can feel her presence, and sometimes her emotions.”
“Ah, well, that explains everything. Now I know why you’re always so cranky when it comes to the topic of Hildegard. Your cranky plus hers is cranky-palooza. So I guess that explains how you knew I was having trouble with the guy in the coffee shop?”
“Yep, and I should have suspected then that this went deeper than just you sharing some blood with Hildegard.”
“So you don’t just have one woman on your back, but counting me, two?”
“They say there’s strength in numbers,” was his flippant reply, riddled with sarcasm.
Hold up, now. How dare he make her seem like the burden here? How dare he be so fucking put upon—like she was anything even remotely like Hildegard. Okay, so she was similar in that she wanted to slam him until his brains fell out of his head—but that was where the similarities stopped and the hinky reigned free. And if need be, she could control those urges, and she sure as fuck wasn’t going to trick him, then stalk the living shit out of him so she could drink from him once a year. . . .
Uh, whoa—if she had Hildegard’s DNA, that meant she was in the same predicament Hildegard was in. If she didn’t want to end up in Hell, she’d have to drink from Clay—which made her far too much like Hildegard to stomach. Oh, the hell she’d be beholden to some man because he had what she needed.
But that meant . . . ding-dong—Hell calling.
And after all that, he had the clangers to make her feel as though she’d only added to his burden because of what he’d done?
Uh, no.
Casey dropped her knitting and popped up from the couch. “You know what? I don’t much like your tone. I didn’t do this—you did. I didn’t sack myself with another woman—you did. And to even hint I’m anything like that spiteful, twisted, blond horror show makes me want to pull your fangs out with—”
She was silenced—quite rudely, and definitely before she was done reading Clay the riot act.
But there were other things to attend to.
Like the cloud of red dust swirling around her.
And the hand on her mouth.
And the skin-blistering heat.
Jesus, she hated the heat.
CHAPTER 14
All righty, then.
Turned out, everything Sister Theresa had said was true.
Hell was hot.
Which meant a condo in Boca was out for retirement.
“Ya got yourself in a fine mess, eh?”
Casey whipped around, her bangs plastered to her forehead, her tight jeans and sweater clinging to her in sticky discomfort. The next time she wanted to impress a guy, it was going to be with loose clothing.
A man, graceful and slender, sauntered into the room, wearing a billowy T-shirt and brightly printed Bermuda shorts. The clack of his flip-flopped feet echoed in her ears, his long braids swayed with an invisible gust of hot air. “Who are you, and am I where I think I am?” Casey looked around in disbelief—not only was it butt-fuck hot, the air was filled with desperation, a helpless vibe that gripped the marrow of her very bones. It seeped from every surface of the room, spilling from the pores of the walls, suffocating her.
His laughter startled her, jarring and distorted. “Ya, mon. You where you tink you are. Where you be for eternity if you don figure dis out.”
Figure it out? Who the fuck could figure anything out in this heat? Shoving a hand into her matted hair, Casey pushed it out of her face with an impatient hand. “Figure what out? Who are you and what could you possibly want from me?” And make it snappy before puddle and grease become synonymous with my name.
He winked a large brown eye playfully. “One of you has to go. Dat mean you need ta find da key.”
Or an air conditioner. Fuckall, she really hated the heat. “The key? Look, I’m not sure what this is about. . . .” And then it hit her. He must be another one of Hildegard’s flunkies—and enough was enough, already. First the fake Rick, now this weird version of Jamaica gone wild. A spike of irritation followed her next question, complete with language she thought only Nina was capable of. “Do you know that fuck- nut Hildegard? Have we knocked each other around on some sheets with something called a Bendy Bob?”
She’d caught him off guard, his look of confusion said as much.
Fear spiked. “Okay, so did Hildegard send you? Because I’m really okay with telling you that it’s the weenie way to do things. It’s like the head cheerleader, sending all the other cheerleaders to beat up the class dork for her or something. And if you are here because of Hildegard, give her a message for me, would ya? Tell her Casey said—I went buck-wild all up and down her man, and but good, sistah.” Frowning at her bold statement, she wanted to regret speaking so crassly, should regret it. Yet, 90 percent of her thought—fuck. That. It was Africa hot here—there was bound to be a certain amount of cranky.
He shook a finger in her direction, backing her up against a wall that shifted in a bulky, gooey mass, billowing in and out, emitting low groaning moans. His accent, thick at times, changed and was disturbingly clear when he said, “You betta watch your sass and focus on da ting you need to fix dis.”
Moving in closer to her, Casey held her body very still, keeping her gaze on par with his in enraged defiance. The walls groaned again, then began to mingle with pitiful wails, soaring and screeching in her ears. His body, pushing her against the wall that now swarmed, bulging and hot, pissed her off. “Look, Mr. Tallyman—how about we quit dickin’ around and you get to the point so I can go back home and you can get to those bananas. What the fuck am I fixing?”
Drawing a finger under her chin, he walked it up along her jaw and to the corner of her mouth. His eyes glowed red, spearing her to the wall. “Do you wanna be here foreva?”
She bit his finger—hard, but it only made him chuckle. “You got da spirit. I like dat.”
Lifting her chin up and away from him, Casey bowed her spine, trying to avoid the wall and touching this man. “What do you mean by forever?”
“Eternity.”
With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. She’d just gone ten rounds with a man who spoke in one-word statements that answered next to nothing and made about as much sense as electing a Kardashian for president. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers twitched, her head tingled. Hacked off and Casey were about to become one. “Get—to—the—fucking—point.”
“If you don wanna be here foreva, you gotta do sometin’ ’bout it.”
Running her tongue across her bottom lip, she cracked her neck. “Like?”
“Like get rid of Hildegard. There’s more at stake dan just Clayton.”
Those balls she seemed to acquire when reason took a backseat to her fury grew. Invisibly swishing between her thighs. “Who are you?”
“Das not for you to know. Jus know, you don know everyting.”
This had become like a bad episode of Unsolved Mysteries, and she was beginning to lose control of the manners she’d once so prided herself on. She gave him a hard shove, pushing him from her personal space. Her hands ached when she clasped them together to keep from placing them
around his neck. If she could get some information from him that made any sense at all, it wouldn’t behoove her to get it while she slung fireballs and in general did the exorcist thing. If there was some way she could help Clay—help herself—then by fuck, she wanted to know. The fight for calm was on. But it was becoming a monumental task to hold it together.Yet she gave it another shot. Her teeth stung from gritting them when she asked, “What’s at stake?”
“Where’s da fun if I tell you dat? All you gotta know is Clay knows what I say, and so does someone around him. Ask him, why don’t ya?” He smiled then, sly with a secret only he had the answers to. Like they were playing a game of Clue, and she had to find the answer to who killed the maid in the wine cellar.
And it was the last thread of the very tenuous rope she swung from. “You motherfucking piece of shit! I said—tell me what you knowwwww!” she shrieked, lifting her hands high in the air, aiming for his head and launching a fireball.
Unfortunately, he was way better at ducking than Clay was. It crashed against the wall behind him, splattering and spewing hot sparks. If he was at all afraid, it didn’t show by the way he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and raised his eyebrow. Rather like he was asking if that was the best she could do.
So yeah, that made her crazier. His superiority chewed its way through every nerve ending in her body, raking at her overheated flesh like claws. A cry of utter frustration, total, full- on fury, exploded from her lips. Gasping from her escalating rage, the air that filled her lungs made her choke. It was thick and had a bitter taste like the noxious, gaseous scent of rotten eggs.
“Listen up! It’s fucking hot here. I hate the goddamned heat. If you don’t tell me what you mean, I swear by all that’s Kentucky fried, I’m going to wail you with a fireball the size of a meteor!”
Her impassioned threat didn’t faze him—not one itty-bitty bit. Because the son of a bloody bitch laughed again—this time with hearty abandon.
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