by Mara
"You weren't too worried about my health five minutes ago," I snapped. "And I don't think you should keep your hands on me for another half second." climbed unsteadily to my feet. The room tilted, then steadied. Luckily I'd fed a couple of days ago—another queen perk. All vampires had to feed every day. 'Cept me. I'd snacked on a homeless guy on the way home, then picked him up (literally), ran the eleven blocks to the nearest hospital (in three minutes), and dumped him at the ER for some blankets, TLC, and hot food.
Anyway, the most helpful drunken darling had helped me more than he knew. I heard three clinks as I the bullets worked their way out of my body and fell to the wooden floor. I ignored them (must be a Tuesday!), but the other five stared at the misshapen bullets, then at me, then at the bullets.
"Out, out, out!" I reiterated, since they all seemed slow. Or hard of hearing. Or both.
"Truce?" W.R.A. asked, smiling warmly. Ooooh, great grin. I ignored the twinge that brought to my nether regions and crowed, "Oh ho! Now that your tiny brains have processed the fact that I'm fairly unkillable and you couldn't beat me—or shoot me—into submission, you're all Peace Talk Central. Well, fu—" I remembered the kid. "Well, forget you."
"We just wanted to talk," one of them had the unbelievable audacity to begin, but I stomped all over that one right away.
"You all suck at talking without punching." I listened hard, but there wasn't a sound from Babyjon's room. Thank God. He'd slept through the ruckus— and the gunshots! Or he'd crawled into the laundry chute. Either way: quiet as a little baby mouse. "I mean it, ass—uh, arrogant intruders. You don't want to see my bad side."
"It gets worse than this?" one of them teased, a real cutie, with blond hair, green eyes, and a Schwarzenegger build. He was the only one who looked genuinely friendly. He was wearing faded blue jeans, beat-up sneakers, and a T-shirt that read "Martha Rules." He rubbed his chest and added, "You pack a pretty good punch, blondie. Ever think of taking up the circus life as the strong man?"
"Ever think of introducing yourselves before you mug a lady?"
"I'm Derik," the good-looking blond said, "and this is my Pack leader, Michael Wyndham." The dark-haired guy with the impressive smile and yellow eyes nodded at me. "And our alpha female, Jeannie." The curly haired shooter also nodded. "And Brendan, and Cain, and Lara—Michael and Jeannie's daughter."
All the ridiculously good-looking people nodded at me, the soul of politeness, almost like they hadn't been trying to kill me five minutes ago. And they were as amazing looking as any vampire, except they were the picture of robust, superhuman health, with blooming complexions and deep tans.
My mouth was watering just looking at them. God, they smelled so good. Ripe and lush, like grapes on the vine. Except for the blond gun-toter. She smelled . . . could this be right? Ordinary?
"We came looking for Antonia," Jeannie said, not taking her hand off the butt of her thirty-eight. I quickly revised "ordinary" into "gun-wielding psychobitch."
"Oh. Duh. Werewolves, right?"
"We did tell you we were coming," Michael reminded me.
"No, you dumped a totally cryptic conversation on me without even telling me your name, and then you hung up."
"I told you she wouldn't get it," Jeannie sighed. She snapped her holster closed, zipped her hoodie (in late June!), and I felt a little better as the gun was hidden away. Bullets couldn't kill me, but they ruined my clothes and stung like crazy.
"Antonia wouldn't have moved in with her without explaining . . . um . . . okay, it's possible my logic where Antonia's concerned is a little faulty." Michael sighed and added something puzzling while shrugging. "Rogues."
Derik smirked, Jeannie rolled her eyes, and the other three remained stone-faced, but Michael had the grace to look abashed. "I, um, like we were saying, I thought Antonia would have explained things to you. I thought you were ignoring instructions and—"
"Hello? You're her—what's it? Pack leader?"
"So she did tell you."
"And you never noticed that Antonia wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful?"
"Point," Derik said cheerfully.
"I'm not the boss of her, dildo breath, just like you prob'ly weren't."
"What's a dil—" the kid began, but she shut up at a warning glance from her mother. I cringed; I'd forgotten all about her again. I reminded myself that it was their own fault for bringing a child here. Yeah! All on them.
I cleared my throat, which, since I had no saliva was more of a harsh bark than anything else. Two of them jumped, and Jeannie's hand strayed toward her gun again. "Anyway. Antonia. She grew up with you bums, right? She's only been here for a few months, but she grew up with you bums, right?"
"I sense culture clash," Derik piped up. He really did look like he was enjoying himself, and it was hard not to smile back at him. He gave off friendliness like a teenage girl gave off hair spray fumes. He was like ;i big . . . well, puppy. "Werewolves punch first and ask questions later."
"How totally fascinating and yet not interesting to me at all."
"Unlike vampires, who never ever do anything bad," he continued, still madly cheerful.
I said nothing.
"But you stood up to our Pack and fought. So we're more inclined to listen to you now."
"Yawn," I said, since actual yawning probably wouldn't have shut them up. "So like I was saying, Antonia comes, she goes, she conquers, she bitches, she moans, she eats all the raw hamburger out of the fridge. That's what she does, that's all she does, and we sure
don't get into discussions about you guys—she's made mondo-clear that Pack business isn't any of our business." Drives my fiance crazy, I thought but didn't say. he's a ship passing in the night. She and Garrett take all the time. I'm not her damned keeper. I'm her—" Uh. Friend? Ally? Thorn? Fellow bitch? Yeah, that one sounded right. . .
"Point," Derik repeated, still smiling at me. "Man, you are cute. If I wasn't married—"
"To a sorceress who'd turn her husband inside out if she saw him right now," Jeannie piped up. "I knew we should have brought her."
"She's eight months pregnant, for God's sake!" "Still, we could have used her to fight a single vampire. This one is powerful. We could have lost someone."
I barely stopped myself from saying something stupid like, "A single vampire? Try the Queen of the vampires, you furry nitwits!" But it was a near thing. How was it that I was constantly either denying queen-hood or embracing it?
"Can we focus, please?" I demanded, as much of myself as of them. "From what I'm gathering, Antonia missed checking in with you guys. So what?"
"So, we'd better sit down, don't you think? I sounds like we've got some catching up to do."
I nearly wept. "You're not going to leave, are you?
"Not without Antonia," the kid piped up. She had a look on her face that was absolutely identical to the look on the gun-toting blonde's. If it hadn't been so weird, it would have been funny. "You didn't take her, I guess. Right?"
"Take her? Shit, I didn't even ask her to move in. She just did. Story of my life," I added in a mumble.
"Then we'd better talk," Michael said. "It seems we have a mutual problem."
"Can't we talk with you guys on the other side of the door? Or the state?"
None of them answered me. Hell. Worth a shot.
"Why'd you shoot me, anyway?" I asked the blonde.
"Because you were winning," she answered cheerfully.
"Swell. Last chance to leave."
They didn't move.
I thought about it, and they watched me think about it. Except for Derik and Jeannie, they all looked way too uneasy, shifting their weight and fidgeting like kids. From punching to looking freaked out in . . . what? Ten minutes? What was up with these weirdos?
"I thought you guys didn't believe in vampires," I said in a lame attempt to stall for time. At least, Antonia had said as much, way back when she'd first moved in.
"Recent events have changed our minds," the brunette—C
ain—said dryly. And what kind of a name was Cain for a five-foot-nothing, buzz-cut brunette with a sharp fox-like face and smoothly muscled arms?
Then badass buzz-cut looked down and actually fidgeted like a little kid who needed to pee. What the hell? There were more of them than me, even if I (sort of) won the fight. Or did I? Anyway, I was outnumbered and outgunned (all my shotguns were in the gun safe in the basement). So what was their problem?
I remembered something Antonia had once said— that vampires had no scent. It took her a long time to get used to Sinclair, Tina, and me being able to sneak up on her. Obviously, my lack of scent was giving the werewolves the heebies. Ha, ha, ha!
I badly wanted to give the slaphappy bunch the heave-ho, but couldn't. For one thing, I was cur ion to hear what they were about.
For another, I was too damned lonely to send them away.
For another, Antonia and Garrett had gone missing, These guys might have some light to shed.
"Kitchen's that way," I said, pointing. "Anybody want a smoothie?"
Chapter 16
I darted up the stairs, praying the werewolves wouldn't get into trouble while unsupervised, checked on Babyjon (still snoring away), then ran back down and led the werewolves and Jeannie into the kitchen just in time to grab the phone as it rang.
"S'up?"
"Betsy? It's Laura. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—"
"Not now," I said, and hung up. I felt bad, but not too bad. She'd been one of the bums to disappear on me in a time of need, after all. And that was weirdly convenient, wasn't it? That Antonia and Garrett and Marc and Sinclair should all disappear right around the time my dad died and my half sister made herself scarce?
Naw. Crazy. But . . . weird,
Naw.
Weird.
Naw! Dammit, naw!
Great. Lonely, and now paranoid. Oh, and surrounded by werewolves. Let's not forget that!
"Let's see," I said, peering into the fridge. "We’ve got strawberries, bananas, and peaches. Also ice, for smoothies. Oh, and Antonia's left half a raw T-bone." I sniffed. "Smells fine. Prob'ly good for another day or two."
"We'll pass on the fruit."
"I could also," I added doubtfully, "defrost some hamburger for you guys."
"We're fine. Let's get down to business."
"I'm not fine. I'm thirsty as hell." I gave them all a big, toothy grin, enjoying the mutual flinch. "So it's smoothie time."
"I'd like a smoothie," Lara piped up. "Banana, please."
"Coming right up." Now it was my turn to flinch; how many times had I heard that phrase from Marc in this very kitchen as he played bartender? How many strawberry smoothies had I fixed for Sinclair? How many times had he brought me upstairs and poured said smoothie all over my—
"Banana, please!" she repeated.
I shook myself. "Sorry. Drifted off for a moment. Peel these, will you?" I said, handing Lara some bananas.
Michael cleared his throat, while his kid (cub? puppy? whelp?) stripped three bananas and tossed the skins into the sink. "So, ah. Antonia didn't check in. And she checks in at 10:00 a.m. EST on the twentieth of the month. So when she didn't, you can imagine our—
The rest was drowned out as I hit "puree." I left it on for a nice long time, ignoring the way it felt like a thunderstorm in my head (stupid advanced vampire hearing). It was worth it just to drown out the arrogant, gorgeous asshat.
Wait. Did I say gorgeous? Sinclair, where the hell did you go?
Via gestures, I directed Lara to the glasses, and she brought me two. She really was the cutest thing, and I smiled at her, then dropped the grin when she didn’t smile back. This was a kid older than her years, that was for damned sure. What had she said? That she was the future Pack leader? That was a lot to pile onto a—what? Seven-year-old? Eight?
A perfect miniature amalgam of her mom and her dad: his eyes, her face, their attitudes. She'd be scary as shit when she hit adolescence. Or possibly the fourth grade.
I shut off the blender, filled Lara's glass to the brim, then heard Michael droning, "—natural for us to jump to the conclusion that nefarious creatures of the night had—"
And on goes the blender again. I took my time win my own smoothie, but eventually I couldn't liquefy the fruit and ice any more and had to shut it off.
"—the fight," he finished.
Jesus! Couldn't this guy take a hint? How did Jeannie stand it? How did any of them? Luckily, J was not that kind of leader.
I was no kind of leader.
"Yeah, well, you were wrong, wrong, wrong." I took a large gulp of my smoothie. "Which I'm betting is a common thing with you people."
“ 'You people'?" the strawberry blond—the guy called Brendan—demanded. He was about a head shorter than Michael, with the aforementioned shoulder-length strawberry blond hair, the usual-to-werewolves sculpted muscles (at least, the werewolves I’d seen), lean build, chiseled good looks, big gorgeous eyes (a kind of gold/brown in his case). They almost seemed to glow from within. Luminous. That was the word. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Were there no fugly werewolves? Fat ones? Nearsighted, squinty-eyed ones?
"I said, what's that supposed to mean?"
Mild-mannered ones?
"You carnivorous ravenous creatures of the full moon," I said sweetly. "Carrying off babies, biting people and turning them into fellow ravenous creatures of the full moon, attacking large-breasted women wearing tight T-shirts." I hailed him with the smoothie. 'You know. 'You people.''
"Ugh!" Derik said, looking genuinely revolted. Looking, in fact, a lot like Antonia when she had told me what he was about to say. "Omnivores taste awful. Trust me. We don't eat you."
"And it's not the measles," Cain (again: What kind of name was that for a woman?) barked. Literally. "Yon can't catch it. We're two different species, you highlighted dimwit."
"Like them?" I asked, pleased, while I patted my bangs back into place. "And if we're two different species, you want to explain her?"
Lara coughed out some banana smoothie as I pointed at her.
"Uh," was all Derik got out.
"I mean, there are no zebra-tigers, right? No gorilla-giraffes? Porcupine-platypi?"
"It's . . . complicated," Michael grumped.
"Nothing you could possibly understand," Cain snarled. Cain.
Cain sat down and shut her mouth. Hah! I looked at Michael with a smidge more respect. Guy hadn't even raised his voice, and Cain was looking like a whipped hound. Really, he was a lot like Sinclair in many ways, and it was a damned shame he was m—
Stop that, Betsy.
"—mean to offend you in your own home."
"No, you certainly wouldn't want to offend me. That's coming through loud and clear, Fist Boy."
"Pack Leader Fist Boy," Brendan corrected, fixing me with a glare he probably thought was menacing. He’d never dealt with a hysterical Marc when he couldn't find a clean scrub shirt. Or Laura when she was late for church. Or Garrett when he ran out of yarn before he finished a sweater.
Or Sinclair, for that matter, at any time. My guy had only to look this pup dead in the eye, and the kid (couldn't have been a werewolf hair over twenty-two) would be his slave as long as Sinclair wanted.
As a matter of fact, I could probably make this kid my slave.
I actually thought about it while one of them babbled about something or other. But in the end I decided to play it carefully. They already knew I was quick and strong. That was two things too many for strangers to know about me. There was plenty of time to turn on the charm, if I needed to.
"—where they might be?"
"Who?"
"Antonia and Garrett, you twit!"
"Brendan."
Puppy Boy sat down and shut his piehole.
"So?" Michael prompted.
"What?"
Michael ran both hands through his brown hair, mussing it to no end. "So. Where. Do. You. Think. Antonia. And. Her. Friend. Are?"
"I. Have. No. I
dea. That's. The. Whole. Problem."
Lara giggled. Or gurgled; she had another mouthful of smoothie. I drained the rest of mine in two gulps and got up to head for the counter.
"Not the blender again, vampire, we're begging you." Cain said it with touching, horrified sincerity; Brendan managed to look equal parts sneery and weary.
That's vampire queen, I thought. But I took pity on them. Their hearing was probably as good as mine.