Death Takes a Holiday

by Jennifer Harlow

  Connor’s eyes pass over us again, settling on Oliver. A smirk forms. “I believe every man in this room would beg to differ, Miss Alexander. Is that not right, Oliver? You take a consort, what? Once every two centuries? Mind you, I only made her acquaintance this evening, but I can see why you chose her.” He eyes me up and down, savoring me. Will’s breath quickens, and his hands ball into fists. If Connor notices, he doesn’t let on. “Brains. Beauty. Power.” Now he meets my eyes. “And I imagine she tastes of ripe cherries. Her blood, her lips, her tongue … everywhere. I wanted to rut her the moment I laid eyes on her.” I try to stop the oncoming lust, but those words coming from that mouth with that accent, my nethers go as warm as the rest of me. Damn vampires. “To taste her. Explore her. With my tongue. With my cock. To slide inside her. In and out. In and out as she screams in ecstasy. Pure heaven.” He licks his lips. “And she feels the same about me. I can smell it on her. She wants me. Inside she is begging for me. And it will be my name she calls out as I ride her. A—”

  The blur of a man snaps me out of my lust bubble. “You motherfucker!” Will flips over the desk, the only thing is his way. Connor leaps out of the way in time to avoid being crushed, but he’s not fast enough to avoid being grabbed by a two-hundred-twenty-pound pissed-off werewolf. Will’s fingers wrap around Connor’s throat, his wolf growling through his humanity.

  “William, no!” Oliver shouts, leaping toward the fray. I’m too shocked to do anything but stare.

  “You will not talk about her that way! Ever!” Will shouts with savage intensity, throttling the passive vamp by the throat. Oliver attempts to pull them apart, but apparently vamp strength is trumped by crazy werewolf power.

  Neil and Agent Wolfe race in, but when they see the scene, they stop for a moment, unsure what to do. Join the club. Then I notice Connor hold up his hand, and Neil’s tension wanes. That’s when it hits me. The sneaky bastard. “Will! Stop it!” I dash over to them. “He wanted this! You’re playing into his hands!” I meet Will square in the eyes. “Will, let him go! Please! He’s not worth it.”

  “He threatened you! Your family!” There’s a sickening crack from Connor’s throat.

  “I know. But you were right. This isn’t the way to do this. Let. Him. Go.”

  Those green eyes glide from me, to the pained Connor, then return to mine. Humanity wins this round. He releases the vamp. Connor slumps to the floor in a heap. Neil and Oliver tend to him, examining this throat. Will is still vibrating with anger and adrenaline as he glares down at Connor, but I touch his cheek, moving his face toward me. Shame and fear now fill those eyes. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

  He shakes his head and grasps my upper arms for an anchor. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re okay,” I whisper.

  “Let me alone,” Connor croaks from the floor. He finds his legs, holding out his hands to stop the fussing Neil. The man just had his larynx crushed and can still talk. Vamp healing is a wonderful thing. “I am fine!” He adjusts his white shirt to regain some dignity.

  Every one of my limbs is shaking as I pull Will away from the now uncool Connor. My dazed defender doesn’t put up much resistance as I place him on the couch. Like a worried mother, Neil checks Connor’s throat but is slapped away for his efforts. “Get away! Do not touch me! Get out. Now!”

  Without protest, Neil scurries out the door. Oliver nods at Agent Wolfe, who nods back and follows Neil. The four of us remaining stay silent, except for Will’s heavy breathing. Connor yanks his shirt down once more, takes a moment to regain his composure, then rights his desk. I alternate between watching him pick up the fallen papers and gazing at Will. His breathing slows then quiets as he twines his fingers together and rests his head on them. Oliver stands unmoving in the back corner, his eyes never leaving Connor. As the time passes, all of ten seconds, my adrenaline levels and I stop shaking. Connor finishes restoring order, sits behind his desk, and folds his arms on it as if the past few minutes didn’t occur. “Shall we continue our conversation now?” he asks, his voice fully restored.

  I blink. “Are you serious?”

  “Nothing has been resolved.”

  “Oh my God,”—the vampires flinch—“are you insane? Haven’t you figured out that there is no way I am ever going to go along with what you want? And is all of this ridiculous maneuvering really worth all this?”

  “She is correct, Connor,” Oliver says. “You have lost.”

  “The law is on my side,” Connor says.

  “Why do you even want me? I am not worth all this trouble.”

  “To me, you are,” Connor says. “I want you. Now more than ever. And I will do anything, within the law, to obtain you.”

  “But the law is not on your side in this instance,” Oliver says, rounding Connor’s desk to stand by me. “She is not my consort. I swear to it.”

  “The conditions were met. I have a copy of the document you both signed while in Dallas.”

  “And if it’s the document I think it is, I signed it Beatrice Smythe. Not my name.”

  “You signed it, that is enough.”

  “She is not my consort,” Oliver says again. “The third condition has not been met.”

  Connor appraises me, then Oliver. “You have not made love?”

  “I swear on my life,” Oliver says.

  Connor smiles and scoffs. “The great Oliver unable to bed a beautiful woman? I would sooner believe the sky is green.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “He’s tried, but I’ve turned him down. Every time.”

  “And can you prove this allegation?”

  “I can.”

  Our gazes find Will. All shame has vanished, replaced with sheer determination. His face, his body, everything is set for battle. He stands up tall, tossing those broad shoulders back, and scowling at his foe.

  Connor tilts his head. “What is your proof, wolf?”

  “The fact that he still has all his limbs,” Will says, serious as cancer. Will steps toward Connor’s desk. “If he so much as touched her in that way, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d stake him in half a heartbeat.”

  “She bears his mark,” Connor says, glancing at my neck.

  “That happened in the line of duty. And the only reason I didn’t kill him on the spot was she stopped me. Knocked me unconscious. I’ll show you the case file if you want. It’s all in there.”

  “They reside in the same house.”

  “And she resides in my room,” Will says, not missing a beat. “If they slept together I’d smell it on her. And then I’d kill him.”

  I can see a tiny crack in Connor’s confidence. He’s actually buying this. Heck, I’m buying it. Oliver remains inexpressive. “Is she your mate, wolf?” Connor asks. “Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news. Your mate spent the previous night with her ex-boyfriend, the volatile Officer Weir. If she cuckolded on you once, then perhaps it has happened before.”

  “I didn’t sleep with Steven,” I say.

  “We’ve been fighting,” Will says, ignoring me. “Actually, the fight was about her friendship with this asshole.” Will gestures to Oliver. “But what happened last night has no bearing on the fact I know with one hundred percent certainty she has never had sex with Oliver. She cannot be his consort. I swear on my life, my badge, and God.” The vamps flinch again. Will puts his hands on the desk, leaning forward and looking Connor square in the eyes. “And therefore you have no claim on her. None. She is mine: mind, body, and soul. Has been since the first moment I saw her. And you are damn lucky I didn’t kill you the minute I walked through the door. The only thing stopping me from doing it right now is I don’t want to start a war. Because not only do I have the full force of the United States government on my side, but with three phone calls—to pack leaders Jason Dahl, Tim Merrill, and Jefferson Monroe, all of whom are close, personal friends—every werewolf in the country will descend upon you and yours. And it will not be pretty. We don’t like your kind to begin with,
and we are itching for a fight. So if you even think of intimidating my mate, or threatening her family, nothing will stop me. I will kill you. I will rip you limb from fucking limb before eating your heart while you watch. I swear it. Are you hearing me, your Lordship? This ends. Now.”

  The men remain locked in a battle of wills for a few fraught seconds. It can go either way. But Connor glances away first, and all that tension vanishes.

  That’s it. It’s over. We won.

  “Is what he claims true?” Connor asks Oliver.

  “Yes,” Oliver lies. “Her heart and body have belonged to another the entire time I have known her. I freely admit to making countless romantic overtures, but all were rebuked. We are friends. That is all. I have no claim to her and therefore neither do you.”

  “But you do have feelings for her,” Connor says, getting in all the jabs he can.

  “My feelings are irrelevant,” Oliver states plainly. “I have not slept with her, therefore she is not my consort. Our laws do not apply to her.” Oliver pauses. “You lost, Connor. Accept defeat gracefully and let us all be.”

  Connor doesn’t utter a syllable for a moment, no doubt trying to figure out all the angles. He rocks in his chair, still thinking, and then stops. He sighs. “Fine.”

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “Smart choice,” Will says.

  “I will trouble you no more, Agent Alexander. Happy Christmas.”

  I feel like doing a victory jig but refrain. I just cordially nod. “Thank you.”

  Giving Connor one last sneer, Will grabs his badge, spins around, takes my hand, and yanks me toward the door. Oliver grins at Connor saying, “Always a pleasure,” before leaving as well.

  We move past Neil, adding Agent Wolfe to our little train. Us scary agents rush out of the club with Will pulling me through the crowd. The vamps on the floor stop working to watch us pass. We ignore them, including the bouncer outside, power walking without looking back until we get safely inside our SUV. Agent Wolfe, who climbs in beside me in the backseat, seems bewildered. He breathes fast enough for me to hear. I’m too shocked to do anything but stare at the front headrest. Will grasps the steering wheel tight enough to make it creak but doesn’t turn on the car. Oliver gazes out the front, still on guard. Nobody talks for a minute. For once the silence is welcome.

  Agent Wolfe breaks the quiet. “What happened in there?”

  Too much. Too damn much. “We realized something,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Will really needs to work on his impulse-control issues,” I say with a chuckle. All three men glance at me, and when they see my smile, they’re infected. And when I full on laugh, they join in. “You were like the Hulk or something with that desk! ‘Will mad!’” I growl like the Hulk through the laughs. “Will, I’m surprised you fell for that!”

  “Not as surprised as Connor,” Oliver chuckles. “At least we turned it to our advantage.”

  “What are you talking about?” Agent Wolfe asks.

  “Connor wanted Oliver to attack him,” I say, “but he got more than he bargained for.” I pat Will’s shoulder. “You know, thanks for defending my honor and all but, dude, I have two words for you: anger management.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Will chuckles, starting the car.

  “So it worked?” Agent Wolfe asks.

  “Connor will not be bothering our fair Beatrice from here on,” Oliver says.

  “And I’ll probably get a lifetime of free drinks at the club. I am so inviting everyone I know for a party there. Cristal all around. Least the bastard can do after this.”

  “But how?” Agent Wolfe asks.

  The laughter subsides, and the smiles gradually fall as we drive away. Agent Wolfe never gets his answer. We ride in silence for a few minutes as Will maneuvers down Market Street. “Okay,” Wolfe says to himself.

  The remainder of the ride home, the quiet inside is anything but comfortable, the equivalent of a pair of stilettos jammed into your eyes. We all gaze out our respective windows, deep in thought. Well, not me. If I have to think about anything that happened tonight, I’ll have a full mental breakdown. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Will glancing at me in the rearview mirror but pretend not to notice. The street lights sure are pretty.

  As we’re about to turn down my street, Oliver breaks the hush of the car. “William,” he says, “I believe you should stay with Beatrice tonight. In her home.”

  “What? Why?” I ask.

  “It would look … odd if he did not. Considering the nature of your alleged relationship.”

  “You think Connor will still be watching her?” Will asks.

  “It is entirely possible, yes.” Oliver turns around to face me. “If you do not object.”

  “I—I mean we have a spare room,” I stammer. “It—it would be the smart thing to do, I guess.”

  Oliver turns around. “Very well then.”

  Gulp.

  The police cars are gone now, as are Merry and Pippin, and all my neighbors are back inside when we pull up. It’s as if nothing happened. Back to normal. Everyone but Oliver gets out of the car. Will awkwardly smiles at me as I do the same to him. If he’s happy about this situation, it doesn’t show. Agent Wolfe rounds the car, and Will hands him the car keys.

  “I’ll bring your bag by later,” Agent Wolfe says to Will.

  “Thank you,” Will says.

  Agent Wolfe then smiles at me. “Thank you so much for everything,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And if you get bored or whatever tomorrow come on over. The door’s always open.”

  “Are you kidding? The beach beckons. You think I came here only for you?” He smiles again and squeezes my shoulder. “Get some sleep.”

  “We’ll talk later,” Will says as Agent Wolfe gets in the car.

  I look through the car window at the oddly quiet Oliver. He’s deep in his own head, gazing out the opposite side of the car, face serious as if he’s working out a math equation. “Night, Oliver.”

  “Good night, Beatrice,” he says, not looking my way.

  I don’t know why, but the word “Beatrice” feels like an icicle to my heart.

  Will takes my hand before I can say anything. “Come on.” I open my mouth but have no idea what else to say. I allow Will to gently pull me toward the house. The SUV drives off.

  The chain is on the door, so I ring the doorbell with a sigh. Will releases my hand and runs his fingers through his hair, his nervous tell. Nana must be waiting by the door because a second later she opens it, wide-eyed but relieved. “Oh thank goodness,” she says, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. “I was so scared.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “It’s all been fixed now.”

  She pulls away and smiles at Will. “Come in.”

  “Thank you,” he says, stepping inside.

  “Nana, is it okay if Will sleeps in the spare room tonight?”

  “Of course. There are fresh sheets and everything.”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Alexander. I hate to impose, but—”

  “It’s not an imposition. You can stay as long as you like. And call me Liz.”

  “Liz. Sorry. It’ll just be for one night. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a shame,” Nana says. Then we three stand quietly for another awkward second. I keep my eyes on the carpet, and Will’s hands haven’t left his pockets. Nana gets a clue. “Well. Then. If the excitement’s over, I’ll just be heading back to bed. Bea?”

  I jerk my head up. “Yes, ma’am?” Ma’am? I haven’t called her that since she caught me sneaking out ten years ago.

  “Can you show your friend where the fresh towels are?”

  “Yep. Uh huh,” I say, nodding my head.

  Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Good. Pleasant dreams.”

  “You too, Mrs. Al—um, Liz.”

  She eyes u
s, then smiles. “Good night, you two.” Still grinning, she walks to her bedroom, leaving us alone feeling like guilty teenagers.

  “She’s nice,” Will says.

  “Yeah. Um, let me show you to your room.” Eager to flee, I lead Will down the hall to Brian’s old room. Like mine it’s suspended in time with baseball pendants, trophies, and AC/DC posters. I flip the light on and Will steps in, surveying the place. “Hope it’s okay.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Good. So the bathroom is right across the hall, towels are under the sink. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge,” I say as fast as an auctioneer, “Internet, cable, anything you like. I’m just next door if you want me.” I mentally slap my head. “Need me. I mean need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “’Kay. Night.” I say, shutting the door.

  “Bea?”

  I open the door all the way. “No. Not tonight. I have had the day from hell. I’m exhausted in every conceivable way, and I don’t have enough energy for the insanely long, awkward conversation we need to have, okay? I need to process, and think, and—”

  “I just wanted to know if I could use the phone to call George. It’s long distance and my cell’s about to die.” He holds up the phone. “The charger’s back at the hotel.”

  And now I want to die. “Oh, um, of course. No problem.”

  “Thank you. Good night.”

  “Night.” I shut the door, cursing my mouth to heck.

  I trek back to my sanctuary, flip on the light, close the door, and promptly fall against it, sliding down it onto the floor like a lump. I’m amazed I stayed upright as long as I did. I just rest on my carpet staring into space in total and utter shock.

  Not because of what he said.

  Not because of what he did.

  Because it hit me. Something I must have known for months but just couldn’t admit. Something scarier than armies of vampires, zombies, and basilisks combined.

  I am truly, madly, deeply, completely in love with William Price.

  In spite of his temper, in spite of what he says, in spite of what he does, in spite of a million reasons why I shouldn’t be, I am. I am in love for the first time in my life.