Will’s foe disappears just as he slices at her. She materializes to his right, kicking him in the stomach with her stiletto boot. He buckles, dropping the sword. The tip lands mere inches from the rest of the knives and other torture devices that have fallen to the floor. Perfect. Before she pops away again, I pick them all up. They lift off the floor by my will and zoom with the force of cannons into her back, all thirteen of them. One even pokes though her throat, blood spewing out of the small hole. Gurgling, she falls onto the tarp.
I stand. I’m the only one on the right side of the desk who does. The vamp that held my arms is smart enough to stay on the floor, clutching onto his bleeding nose and side. The remaining three in the corner can’t take their eyes off me. The young one huddles on the floor behind a cool Anton, and Freddy is almost vibrating with fear. I meet his brown eyes. “I told you, you should have killed me.”
“Yes,” he says with a quaking voice. “I see that now. Well.”
Will manages to get to his feet. His shirt and cast are caked with his blood, though the flow has ceased. He’s a little pale, but I think he’ll be alright. “Will? Get Oliver.”
Will picks up the discarded sword, walking over to the hopefully unconscious Oliver. No one moves as Will lowers the cage to the ground. I can only watch out of the corner of my eye as Will lifts Oliver’s nearly lifeless body out of the enclosure. His alabaster skin is cut in so many places it would take a mathematical formula to count them all. Will carries the body to the door. “Bea?”
I catch Freddy’s fearful eyes again. “Right behind you. Go.”
Will’s either too tired or too weak to protest.
Freddy squares his shoulders. His jaw sets. “Go ahead. Kill me. But know … the man you just saved is not worth the effort. He is no friend of yours. He will betray you, leave you, and not look back. So do it.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you.” I look beside him. “Anton is.”
Freddy’s head swivels to his friend. “What?”
Sword pointed at him. I slowly walk toward the desk. “He called us here, you know. Tattled on you. He’s wanted you dead for years. He was just waiting for the perfect opportunity. You didn’t know that? Huh. He betrayed you, your best friend. Your only friend. Just like your lover.” I smile at Freddy. “And you know why? Because you’re stupid. And selfish. And nobody likes you. You’re totally alone. Forever and always. And you get to die knowing it.” I toss the sword to Anton who catches it one-handed. I didn’t think it possible, but the vamp smiles. Freddy backs away from him. Anton glances at me. “You can say I did it.”
“Thank you,” he says with a nod.
“Just know …” I say, voice hard. “I will be watching you. Don’t make me come back here. Ever.”
“I understand.”
With that I turn on my heels and walk out, stepping over the bodies in my wake. I don’t look back, even when I hear the slices and screams.
Adios, Texas.
Fourteen
In the Bedroom
I can do this.
It’s easy.
Just lift up my hand and knock.
Now.
Crap.
I’m standing outside his door holding a warm mug of blood, and I can’t move my hand. This is ridiculous. I know it’s ridiculous, so why can’t I move? Okay, I know the reason. I don’t want to find out what’s on the other side of the door. Will he be fully recovered, or did we get there too late? Will that once-dazzling body and face be ravaged with scars or camera-ready? And what the hell do I say to him? Sorry you were tortured because I let my guard down?
I should just go back upstairs and check on Nancy. From what I hear she’s been crying almost nonstop since she got home. Andrew and George have done their best, and since I got home a few hours ago I’ve been up there, but it hasn’t done much good. I don’t know how she’ll get through the memorial service tomorrow. I should have been here with them, not still in horrible Texas filling out paperwork and trying to answer questions that I just didn’t have answers for.
Carl, Agent Chandler, and I were the only ones not in need of serious recovery time, so we had to clean up the mess at the farmhouse. The FBI, Sheriff’s department, and Venus Police Department were all demanding answers as to why eight people died in an “explosion.” I had to lie like a used car salesman. The only highlight was when Petra came in. Her smile when I told her we got them was almost worth the whole experience. We found ten bodies in the backyard.
Will came to save us from bureaucracy heck halfway through the second day, answering almost all their questions and squashing all egos. He passed out right next to Oliver on the drive to mobile command. I’m told he had to change to wolf form to heal. I wouldn’t know, though. Carl and Agent Chandler had to drag me kicking and screaming out of medical as Dr. Neill fixed up both men. I didn’t find out until the next day that Oliver survived. I’d managed to keep it together until that moment, but when Carl told me, I immediately burst into tears in front of about fifteen law enforcement officers. At least they stopped yelling at me after that.
The change did help Will. The bite, burns, and broken arm all disappeared, through the awkwardness has remained. We’ve barely said anything to each other that wasn’t work related since that night. I alternate hourly between furious and grateful. If I hadn’t been there, he would have left Oliver to die, of this I have no doubt. What does that say about him? Do I even want to be friends, let alone lovers, with a man who wouldn’t raise a finger to help someone escape certain death just because he dislikes him? I know it was what Oliver asked him to do, but still. On the flip side, he did come to rescue me. When I needed him, he was there. He showed up. I would have died, and he almost did. He cares about me, but I’m too tired to sort this out now. I anticipate many sleepless nights pondering these questions.
Screw it. I lift my hand, gently knocking.
“Enter, Trixie,” Oliver says on the other side. Here goes. After a deep breath, I open the door.
I’ve never been in his room before, but I like it. It’s … tasteful. It’s about as big as my room, so it’s huge. There’s an antique rosewood armoire, matching desk with computer, bookshelves off in the corner, and plasma TV hooked up to a DVD player. The only odd thing is that the TV is surrounded by maroon curtains in the red wall. The screen shows a starry night with a full moon so realistic I almost forget we’re underground. I’ll bet he has a sunrise on sometimes too. No porno music playing on a loop either.
The bed is the centerpiece, though. Like mine, it’s a four poster with head board, but his lacks the canopy. The sheets he’s under aren’t satin or leopard print, as I would have guessed. They’re gray and the comforter is black and white. No sex den; it’s just a room.
Oliver sits propped up by pillows. He’s still too pale and he wears a black scarf on his head to cover the scalped part. He’s hooked up to a blood IV, but otherwise he’s fine. He’s okay. Alive.
There was a part of me that didn’t believe it. Like it was just something they told me to stop me from going nuts, but seeing him with my own two eyes, all the fear and anger lift. That horrible rock in my stomach vanishes. I can breathe without forcing it.
“Is that for me?” he asks with a small smile.
For a moment I’m confused. What’s he talking about? But then I remember the cup in my hands. I really need some sleep. “Yeah, but it looks like you’ve already got some.”
“I can always use more,” he says with grin Number Three.
I pull the chair from the desk over to the bed, handing him the mug before sitting on the edge of the chair, back straight. “You’re looking well,” I say with an awkward smile.
He sips. “The scars are almost gone. I shall be back to normal in another day or two.”
“Good,” I say.
Neither of us speaks for an uncomfortable minute. I mean, what do I say? My eyes dart around the room, and his remain on the cup. I have no idea what to say to this man. None. “Thank you”
seems too little for someone who almost sacrificed their life for yours. I should have written down a speech or something. I can’t do this. “Well,” I say as I stand, “I’ll let you rest. You must be—”
His cold hand catches my wrist. “Wait. Sit. Do not leave me.” When I obey, he releases my wrist. “I was told what you did. It was foolish, reckless, and … words cannot express the gratitude I feel.”
“So you’re not mad I killed your ex-girlfriend and ex-boyfriend?” I chuckle nervously. “Because if you have any more, I’d—”
“Stop it,” he says. “I am being serious. I need to say this; please let your guard down and allow me to do so.”
I’m about to let another smart remark pass though my lips, but his expression stops me. “Okay.”
After a weary sigh, he says, “I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I am sorry I put you in that situation. I am sorry I let that madman get so close to you. I am sorry … for so many things. What I let happen was unforgivable. And even after that, you …” He looks away. “I am forever in your debt.”
“Oliver …” I move to the edge of the bed, taking his hand in mine just as he did for me two months ago in my room when I couldn’t go on anymore. “I should be thanking you. You knew what he was planning. You knew what would happen if you showed up. But you did. And what he did to you …” I shake the image of his ravaged body out of my mind. “You were willing to die a savage, vicious death to save me. You showed up. There aren’t that many people who would do that. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
His eyes catch mine again, this time they’re as serious as a death sentence. “You listen to me, Beatrice Alexander. If I have to crawl through glass. If I have to walk a thousand miles. If I have to fight through a legion of demons to storm the gates of hell, come what may, I will always come for you. Always. Never doubt that.”
And I don’t. With every fiber of my being, I believe it.
I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know what to do. Everything I’ve felt for him—heck anything I’ve ever felt for anyone—nothing is quite like … I don’t know what I feel for this man. I’ve never felt it before, and I doubt I’ll ever feel it again. The only way I can describe it is … beautiful. Accepted. Safe. The way, I realize, he’s always made me feel. My dark angel.
I lean in slowly, closing my eyes. I want to savor this. My lips touch his, warm on cool. He doesn’t respond at first, but then kisses back, soft and slow. I release his hand to cup his jaw. I feel everything, his skin, his mouth, and all of me. From my toes to my hair, I feel. You know what? It’s better than I ever imagined. I pull away a moment later, once again meeting his eyes. “And I will always come for you,” I say.
I pull my hands away as I stand from the bed. He watches, face deceptively neutral, as I saunter back to the door.
I shut it quietly without another word.
We’ve said all that needs saying. For now.
THE END
Acknowledgments
First, to Sandy Lu at the Lori Perkins Literary Agency for pulling me out of the slush pile all those years ago. Ditto to Terri Bischoff at Midnight Ink. Also to Nicole Edman for the edits, and Courtney Colton for spreading the word. May we all make lots of money.
Last time I forgot to thank all the wonderful women who gave me blurbs, so I’m making up for it now. To Victoria Laurie, Kat Richardson, Karen Chance, Leanna Renee Hieber, Kelly Meding, Jeannie Holmes, and Carolyn Crane: I’m so honored you took time to read about (and actually liked) Bea and all her friends. I’m humbled to be in your company. And I still owe you all a drink.
Thanks to all the other Midnight Inkers, especially Alan Orloff, Beth Groundwater, and Lois Winston, for taking time to answer my questions and helping me navigate through publishing waters. You taught me a lot.
Thanks to my always wonderful beta readers Jill Kardell, Ginny Dowis, Theresa Friedrich, and Susan Dowis for your suggestions.
Thanks to Marti Gullatt of the Arlington Public Library for writing me about my Dallas mistakes. And for liking my books. Keep spreading the word!
Thanks to the Prince William, Fairfax, Huntington Beach, and Newport Beach public library systems for giving me a quiet place to write. And to stare at cute boys.
Thanks to those of you who hosted my blog tour and Roxanne Rhodes at Bewitching Book Tours for coordinating it. You all really are the wave of the future.
Thanks to my family for putting up with me full stop. I know sometimes it isn’t easy.
And finally, thanks to my readers for posting nice reviews on websites, writing fan letters to me, following me on Facebook and Twitter, and just giving Mind Over Monsters a chance. I will do my damndest to never disappoint you.
About the Author
Jennifer Harlow (Manassas, VA) earned a BA from the University of Virginia in Psychology. Her eclectic work experience ranges from government investigator to radio DJ to lab assistant. She is also a member of Sisters in Crime.
Visit her online at http://jenniferharlowbooks.com and http://blog.jenniferharlowbooks.com.
Photograph by Bill Fitz-Patrick
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Information
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Catch a Vampire Page 24