She closed her hand around Nicholas’s wrist and dug her nails into him.
He yelped awake.
“Nicholas,” she said.
“Mm.” He shifted a little and must have smelled it, too: the scent of blue lotus. He was off the couch and to the nearest lamp before Imogene could swallow her own sleep spit. The ceiling glowed in a dull, beige light, and in the center of the living room stood a woman.
Even though she was paler than most humans, her skin tone was darker than Imogene’s, harkening back to some foreign heritage. She had long, dark hair, pulled half-up; the rest fell in curled tendrils around her delicate face. Her eyes were big and brown, her lips lush and red. Bigness also applied to her breasts—glorious, half cantaloupes—although the rest of her was thin and trim. She wore a skintight black dress that came down to her knees, and even though Imogene sensed this woman was up to no good, she had to admire her style.
“Nicky.” She smiled big, white fangs, and of course had some kind of cute European accent. Imogene wanted to claw her throat out.
“Amora.” Nicholas seemed out of breath.
“Darling.” She took steps toward him, arms extended, which made Imogene leap from the couch and stand in front of her fuck buddy.
She bared her fangs. “Back off, bitch.”
Amora stopped moving and smiled. “You must be Imogene.” She looked over her head at Nicholas. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Nicky?”
“Don’t call him that.”
Amora’s dark brown eyes stared at her. “Don’t tell me what to do, little girl.”
“I won’t look so little when I’m tearing your spine out through your throat.”
Nicholas pushed Imogene behind him. “What are you doing here, Amora?”
She put her hands on her thin hips. “Checking on you, darling. I missed you.”
“No, what are you doing here? In this house?”
She took on an innocent look of confusion, which made her resemble a perturbed, Spanish Audrey Hepburn. “Well, looking for you. This is where you are, so I am here.”
“You can’t just break into people’s homes.”
“The door wasn’t locked.” She shrugged and smiled some more.
Imogene took great pleasure in the thought of tearing each and every white tooth out at the root. With rusty pliers. She considered a diving tackle, in fact, but Nicholas held tight to her wrist behind his back.
“What do you want?” he said.
She poked out her bottom lip. “Nothing. Just letting you know I’m here. It’s so lovely being close to the sea. Reminds me of La Concha. Do you remember, darling?”
Imogene stood on the tips of her toes to see over Nicholas’s shoulder. “Call him darling one more time, sweet tits.”
Amora laughed. “I like her, Nicky. No wonder you took her to bed.”
“I think you should leave.”
She frowned. “I thought you might say that. Probably a good idea. Sunrise is soon. I’m staying at the Chantelle in Lazaret, if you should need me.”
“I don’t need you.” His tone could have frozen water. In Arizona. In July.
Amora touched her finger to the side of her long, straight nose. “I think you do.” She reached for a small, black clutch on a table near the side door. “It was so nice meeting you, Imogene. I understand you’re a blood dealer?”
“I wouldn’t sell you shit in a paper bag.”
She sighed. “Well. Good to see you, Nicky. You look…” Her brown eyes caressed him, head to toe. “You look like the boy I once knew.”
As soon as the door closed, Imogene did the only thing that seemed reasonable. She grabbed Nicholas by the front of his shirt, kicked his feet out from under him, and smashed him to the ground. The lamp tumbled from the table, but the bulb didn’t break, casting the room in an awkward, tilted half-light.
“Not dead,” she said. “Followed you here, where there is a fragile human and a pregnant vampire who doesn’t know how to throw a punch. Now, what the fuck would you like to tell me?”
The bedroom door opened behind them, and Ian peered out, cautiously, black hair askew. “Oh.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I wanted to make sure everything was all right. Then, I thought you might be having sex, so I shouldn’t come out.” He tilted his head. “Are you having sex?”
“Absolutely not,” Imogene growled.
Nicholas put his hands, palms up, near his head. “Imogene.”
“I will choke you out. I know it won’t kill you, but I’ll feel better.”
“Uh, Imogene?” Ian put his hand on her shoulder, which at least reminded her to breathe.
Imogene remained planted on Nicholas’s chest. “Why does Dr. Savage think Amora is dead?”
“Because I told her she was.”
“And she believed you.”
“Yes. She trusts me.”
Her fingers closed a little on his throat. “And yet, you lied to her.”
His Adam’s apple hopped in her hand. “I didn’t think it mattered. I had no reason to believe Amora would show up here.”
“Um.” Ian sat Indian style on the floor next to them. He gestured to the fallen lamp. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?”
Imogene let go of Nicholas’s throat and leaned back on her heels. “Nicholas’s maker just made a cameo in your living room.”
“What?” Ian looked around. “Like, just now?”
“Yeah.” She rolled off Nicholas and leaned against the couch, shoving frizzy curls from her face. “And I hate her already.”
“Oh-kay,” Ian said.
Nicholas sat up, slowly, as if Imogene was a bobcat ready to strike. “We’ll have a security system installed here, as well.”
Imogene pushed her fangs out and sucked on her teeth like a baby with a bottle. “Do they need one?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know,” she said. “Or you wouldn’t have suggested it.”
Nicholas stood and faced the windows, covered in blackout blinds. Outside, the sun would be up any second. “She’s here because of me, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hurt the people I care about.”
Ian stood, too, fists clenched at his sides. “Has that happened before?”
“Yes, but mere trifles. Servant girls. Barmaids. Amora is a jealous woman, and she’s never stopped loving me.”
Ian put his hand on Imogene’s shoulder.
She glared. “What?”
“Does that mean she’ll hurt Imogene?”
Nicholas ran his fingers through the short hair on the back of his head. “I believe Imogene can take care of herself. But no, Amora will not hurt Imogene. It’s not in her best interest.”
“Yeah, why’s that?” Imogene asked.
His eyes glimmered gold when he turned around. “If Amora hurt you, I’d kill her, no matter her relation to the Stadium Lamia.”
Now, Imogene was on her feet, too. “That bitch works with you?”
“No, not exactly. We work for the same organization but have no contact professionally. Still, as members, we’re both under its protection. The SL is not an organization you trifle with, but I would kill her for you.”
Imogene shook her head. “Don’t get romantic on me.”
“I’m being pragmatic,” he growled. “Look, Amora is no concern of yours. She’s merely here to—”
“Kill people,” Ian whispered-shouted, probably to keep Celia in a state of euphoric dreamland.
Nicholas sighed.
“Why don’t we just send Dr. Savage and Dean after her? It’s their job to kill vampires who kill humans.”
He shook his head. “She’s too much for them.”
“Jesus, don’t let them hear you say that. Dean might stake you for insulting his manhood.”
Nicholas stared at the floor. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her if she kills any other humans, I’ll report her to the SL. Their punishments are worse than death. I would know.”
“Well, you’re not going
to see her alone, you asshat. No alone time between you two. Nu-uh.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the jealous type, Imogene.”
“Fine. Go see her alone.” She flopped onto the couch and pulled a blanket up to her chin.
“Well, neither of you are going anywhere right now.” Ian pointed at the microwave clock in the kitchen. “The sun’s up.”
“We should sleep.” Nicholas nodded. “All of us. In the evening, I’ll call the security company and have all the proper precautions set in place.”
“Thanks, man,” Ian said, patting Nicholas on the shoulder. “Exes really are a pain in the ass.”
Nicholas actually chuckled and watched Ian disappear back to his bedroom. Then, his eyes moved to Imogene, who looked away from him, cocooned in her comforter. “I know you’re angry,” he said. “But I’d like to hold you tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I sleep better when I do.”
She huffed.
“Please.”
She looked anywhere but at his youthful, chiseled man-face and stretched out on the couch with her back pressed to the cushions. “Get the light.” She closed her eyes.
Soon, the orange glow beyond her eyelids disappeared. She heard him put the lamp back on the table. Then, with the grace of a cat, he inserted himself at her side and put one hand on her stomach. His thumb rubbed up, down, up, down.
“Stop it,” she muttered.
His thumb stopped moving, but his body leaned closer to hers until she could feel his soothing chill.
Imogene kept her eyes closed and sighed.
His hand moved to her hip. His thumb rubbed up, down. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. She grabbed his face in her hands and stared at him in the dark. “I am not happy with you.”
“You don’t have to be.” His lips tickled the edges of hers.
“Great lover, indeed,” she said with a tone of annoyance, but she still latched onto his face and ravaged his mouth.
Chapter Twelve
After the vampire security guys left, Imogene finally felt safe leaving Ian and Celia home alone. Since Celia was on extended leave from Happy Gas (her stomach kept knocking things over), Imogene felt even better and forbid her best friends from leaving the house without calling her first. Then, it was time for Nicholas to fess up. Imogene forced him into an audience with Dr. Savage, but of course, he required they first go back to Imogene’s house to change.
“I’m not walking around like this,” he said, gesturing to Ian’s shirt and shorts.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m wearing the second hand clothes of an elder cousin.”
She barked a laugh, because even though Nicholas was plenty filled out for her taste, he wasn’t as tall as Ian, so the shorts did resemble Capri pants.
She drove them to her place, and she waited downstairs… and waited. And. Waited. She finally went upstairs. The hallway smelled like shampoo and Nicholas, who’d chugged a bag of blood on his way up the steps a half hour earlier.
“What are you doing up here still?”
She found him standing in front of the mirror in his room, adjusting his tie. As annoyed as she was, she still drooled a little, because he was all in black—suit, shirt, shoes, and tie.
“You look like a character from Goodfellas,” she said, but her harassment was half-assed, considering she stood on the tips of her toes, ready to tear the suit in question off piece by piece. “You take so long to get ready, you’re practically a princess,” she continued. “If I didn’t know how much you like the pink taco, I’d swear you were gay.”
He grimaced. “Pink…” He shook his head.
Imogene smirked. “Stop stalling.”
“I’m not stalling,” he muttered.
“You’re stalling because you know Dr. Savage is gonna be pissed.”
She watched him put on his silver, anchor-shaped cufflinks.
“Hey, why did it end between you two anyway? You lie to her before?”
Nicholas rested his long, pale hands on the dresser and looked at her, reflected in the mirror. “I don’t know who I want to avoid more right now, you or Rain.”
Imogene smiled before dragging him from the room by his tie and out to her car.
Dr. Savage seemed surprised to see them, but then, she put on her creepy, China doll therapist smile. “Couple’s session? You’re lucky I had a cancellation.”
Nicholas began to stutter, but Imogene just latched onto his hand and pulled.
The couch farted when they both sat down, Dr. Savage across from them. She looked utterly pleased, as though she was happy they were already having relationship problems—which Imogene knew they weren’t, because they weren’t in a relationship. They were just fucking.
“It’s good to see you both.” She tapped her fancy gold pen against the edge of her wire-rims. “I thought you might pose a challenge to each other.”
“We’re not here for therapy, doc,” Imogene said. “Nicholas lied to you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No.” Imogene pointed a thumb at Nicholas. “He’s sorry.”
Dr. Savage turned her green gaze to the man in black. “Nicholas?”
“Amora is alive. We saw her last night.”
Dr. Savage stood. The pad of paper in her lap tumbled to the floor, revealing scrawled words like “intimacy issues” and “homicidal.”
“Rain.” Nicholas stood, too, one hand in front of him.
Imogene folded her hands under her chin. “Rayna, how does Nicholas’s dishonesty make you feel?”
There were moments in Imogene’s life when she noticed a brewing storm. It was perhaps in the smell of wet pavement, the rumble of thunder. There was no indication of Hurricane Rayna.
“Nicholas!” she screamed, fangs out, eyes gone black.
Imogene cussed and clawed up onto the back of the couch.
Even Nicholas took a step away, not that it mattered, since Dr. Savage stomped forward and Hulk-smashed him into the wall with enough force to crack plaster. Imogene took a moment to admire the fracture that spider-webbed up the wall to the ceiling.
“LIAR!” the peace-loving therapist howled. “You have always been a liar, you son of a bitch!” She shrieked like a banshee.
“Whoa,” Imogene whispered.
“I’ll come see you in New York! That’s what you said. See you in New York, Rain!” She let go of Nicholas enough to pull her own hair until her fancy bun fell to pieces. “In truth, you were fucking that whore from the Moulin Rouge!”
“She was a dancer.”
“AHHHHH!” Dr. Savage hurled a lavender-scented bamboo diffuser to the floor.
Imogene wished she still ate popcorn. This shit was better than a movie.
“You were always fucking around behind my back! Always! You dirty liar. Liar, liar, LIAR!” She pointed her finger in his face. “All I got out of our relationship was a painting.”
“All you got?” Nicholas took a step forward this time, and Imogene could tell: if he’d been a wolf, his hackles would have gone up. “How many men have the patience to put up with your foot fetish?”
Dr. Savage gasped. “How dare you!”
He spun on Imogene. “She would sit around for hours, sucking my toes, moaning. Who does that?”
“I don’t know.”
He turned back to Dr. Savage. “Granted, you were quite gifted at sucking other things, as well, but toes? I was a saint to you!”
“You were an egomaniacal, sex-obsessed pig!”
“Frigid, self-important witch!”
In the awkward silence that followed, Imogene started a slow clap before jumping off the couch and donning her sunglasses. “This has really been more entertaining than I could have hoped, but we need to talk about Amora.”
Dr. Savage’s eyes returned to their normal color, and her lip quivered. “Oh, Nicholas, I’m sorry.” She reached her hands out to touch his face, and he actually let her.
“I�
��m sorry, too. God, a hundred years, and we haven’t changed at all.” He ran his hand down Dr. Savage’s arm and took her hand. “Imogene’s right. Amora is back, and we both know nothing good can come of her being here.”
Dr. Savage nodded and finally seemed to notice the disaster that was once her serene office. The diffuser poured scented oil all over the carpet. One wall looked ready to crumble, and dyed, dark brown hair covered her face.
“Nicholas says she works for the SL, too.”
Dr. Savage’s eyes grew wide. “Why would Olivier Winsome hire a monster like her?”
“That’s none of our concern,” Nicholas said. “However, I do believe she has killed humans here in Lazaret.”
Dr. Savage chewed her lip, and Nicholas appeared to read her mind.
“No, I’m not asking you and Dean to hunt Amora. I will talk to her, and if she kills again, I will report her to the SL, but that is a final resort. The last thing I want is the head of the SL coming here. I’ll take care of this.”
“We,” Imogene said. “We’ll take care of this. I’m not sending you in alone against your psychotic, super hot maker. No, sir, not with that cute European accent of hers.”
“Rain. I’ll take care of this.”
Dr. Savage straightened her glasses and stood up straight. “Fine. But if I run into that bitch on the street, I’ll chop her head off. So help me.”
Imogene and Nicholas stepped out into the sweltering summer heat. He stared at passing tourists and said, “I need a drink.”
“Me, too. And I know just where to get one.”
Together, they left the pastel-colored tourists of St. Arthur’s Circle and traversed the glowing bridge that took them into Lazaret. The city gave off a dull, pathetic ripple of light as disgruntled janitors vacuumed floors in empty skyscrapers and streetlights buzzed along the harbor. Imogene didn’t give Nicholas a chance to ask where they were going. She turned up her stereo, pleased to find Metallica in the CD player. She head-banged to “Enter Sandman” as she drove and, surprisingly, didn’t kill anyone.
Bite Somebody Else Page 15