Bite Somebody Else

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  She bucked and shouted when his mouth moved lower, and she clawed at his bare shoulders. “Is this part of the British education system, because it totally should bee-eeee…” She shuddered and moaned.

  Before finishing her off, Nicholas carried her to the couch in the living room. She divested him, happily, of the remainder of his clothing and stared up at him from where she sat. She licked the V of his hipbones and ran her nails down the center of his chest.

  “You should be made into a statue,” she said, licking, licking. “Like the David in France.”

  “Italy,” he panted.

  “Whatever.”

  “You’ve been there.”

  “I didn’t go to Italy for the fucking museums. I went for the fu—”

  “Mm-hmm.” He fell onto the couch on top of her and delicately brushed the hair back from her face. He stared at her with the kind of devotion she usually found nauseating, but with Nicholas, the devotion was not only welcome but also adored.

  She sucked on his bottom lip until they were both reduced to shouts, gasping breaths, and furniture shaking quivers. Imogene’s lungs burned as she wrapped her arms and legs around his limp body and pressed kisses to his forehead, his hair.

  “I want you to do that to me every day,” she said.

  He squeezed her tighter and buried his nose against her throat. He nibbled at her skin and licked and pulled with his lips. Already, her immortal body again responded to his touch. It was like all the August heat had somehow found its way between her legs, and she caressed the back of his head like a proud pet owner.

  “Jerk,” she said.

  “Psychopath.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he purred.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In celebration of a talking unborn baby, Dr. Savage kindly invited everyone over for another of her awkward dinner parties. As Imogene walked hand-in-hand up the driveway with Nicholas, she flashed back to a much earlier dinner party when things had ended with broken glass and a very pissed off Nicholas. How things had changed.

  As they walked into the grand foyer, Imogene snickered when she saw the nude painting of Dr. Savage was no longer hanging in the front hall. “Wonder if Dean burned it.”

  Nicholas took off his suit coat and hung it in the front closet. “Hope not. That damned painting took forever. Rain wouldn’t sit still. She kept wanting—” He cut himself off and looked at anything but Imogene.

  She ran her hands up his chest. “Wanting, huh?”

  He kissed her softly. They both pulled away and sniffed in unison before stepping back to make room for the front door, which swung open a second later, revealing Ian and a very, very pregnant Celia.

  Imogene grimaced. “Where did you find that?”

  Celia looked down at her familiar blue ensemble. “It’s not the same blue mumu, okay? It’s a different blue than when we first met. I’m allowed to wear a mumu right now, Imogene, because I’m very fat and pregnant!”

  Imogene looked up at Ian. “Right, so she’s in a good mood.”

  He half-chuckled and closed the door behind them.

  “Where’s blood?” Celia waddled barefoot in the direction of the dining room. “I need blood!”

  “Having fun yet?” Imogene smiled up at Ian and ruffled his hair.

  He shrugged. “Amazingly, she still wants to have sex all the time, which is getting really difficult, like, angles wise.” He ran his hand through his hair, forcing it into further disarray. “Plus, I’m worried about what other words the baby might start repeating.”

  “Right.” Imogene nodded. “Shit, hadn’t thought of that.”

  “What are you all doing lingering in the shadows?” Dr. Savage appeared, backlit in the grand doorway at the end of the hall. “Come in, friends. Ian, I have your favorite—kale smoothie.”

  “Thanks, doc.” He grinned.

  “Come on, lover man.” Imogene grabbed onto Nicholas’s hand, and he spun her until he had his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

  The dining table was set in a shade of sea foam green with candles the color of sun-lit sand. They’d all sat willingly on the floor at the wacko Kung Fu table at their first dinner party, but somehow, Imogene doubted that was going to be possible for Celia. At least there wasn’t sitar music.

  Dean stood in the corner drinking what smelled like scotch until he saw Ian and came forward to give his good buddy a handshake and slap on the back. Celia, as expected, slurped blood from a tall wine glass. Poor Vixen was dressed like a member of the Brady Bunch, although her eyes did brighten when she saw Imogene. She even gave her a quick, enthusiastic wave before reverting to the downtrodden expression of an abused servant girl.

  Dr. Savage, very haute couture in a black pencil skirt and shirt, brought over a silver platter, balanced on her perfectly manicured nails. “Imogene, B-negative for you, of course. Nicholas, a touch of O, and Ian…” She gestured to what looked like a goblet of green sludge.

  “Thanks,” he said, but Imogene could tell he was going straight for Dean’s scotch as soon as the doctor’s back was turned. She might even join him, considering she couldn’t stand the doc’s Shaman-Blessed Shit.

  Celia was on her second glass of blood by the time Dr. Savage stood at the head of the table and raised her own. “I’d like to propose a toast.” She flashed her whitened teeth. “Tonight, I consider myself surrounded by friends, and soon—very soon—there will be a new member of our growing family.”

  Imogene was about to make a faux throw-up sound, which Nicholas obviously expected, because he pinched her elbow skin.

  “To the new baby.” Dr. Savage lifted her glass even higher, and they all repeated after her before tentatively taking sips of their given concoctions. The only person who looked happy in the room was Dean. Yeah, Imogene was definitely going to steal his scotch.

  Before that could happen, the front door opened.

  Dr. Savage’s wrinkle-less brow furrowed as she tilted her head toward the sound, but then, three vampires—Nicholas, Imogene, and Dr. Savage—made the same low growl sound.

  Dean traded his scotch for a huge fuck-you knife, and Imogene wondered, momentarily, where the hell he’d been hiding it.

  “Imogene, stay in front of Celia and Ian,” Nicholas ordered, and she didn’t hesitate.

  “What is it?” Dean whispered.

  “Blue lotus.” Dr. Savage reached under the table and pulled out a samurai sword, which made Imogene wonder how many random weapons were hidden all over the doc’s house.

  “Don’t kill her,” Nicholas murmured.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Nicholas.” Dr. Savage lifted the sword over her shoulder.

  Imogene shoved Ian and Celia behind her and put on her best “don’t mess with me” face, complete with extended fangs.

  Then, there she was: Amora, in a floor length satin gown that belonged on a red carpet. Dr. Savage did, indeed, look ready to strike, until a soothing British accent stopped her with merely the pronouncement of her name.

  “Dr. Rayna Savage,” the voice said from behind Amora.

  Dr. Savage lowered her sword, and Nicholas looked like a boa constrictor trying to swallow a mountain goat.

  A tall, thin man with gray hair stepped into the candlelit dining room. His face was long, and he had a mole in the middle of his cheek. He wore a suit similar to Nicholas’s but cream-colored. Imogene knew Nicholas would never wear cream.

  Dr. Savage tossed the samurai sword on the floor with a metallic clang. “Olivier,” she choked.

  “Olivier,” Imogene whispered.

  “Who the hell is Olivier?” Ian whispered back.

  “Well, he looks like an asshole,” Imogene said, loudly, which caught the old man’s attention.

  He turned dark brown eyes on her and smiled. “Imogene.” He licked his pointed front teeth. “Oh, I can’t imagine you’d be anyone else.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Attention diverted, he
walked toward Nicholas. “Lord Nicholas Christopher Cuthbert III.” He grabbed his head and kissed him on both cheeks. “Wonderful to see you, my boy. Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Amora called me in.” He turned to face the rest of the group. “She said it’s wonderful in Florida this time of year, but I find it a bit warm.” His chuckle sounded gravelly. “And Celia! Where is Celia?” He spun around.

  Imogene tried to grow taller by standing on her tiptoes. “Don’t come any closer, Conan Doyle.”

  Olivier turned to Amora. “My God, she’s just as you said—and more. Imogene, I’ve so been looking forward to meeting you and learning more about your abilities.”

  “Yeah, I’m really good with garden shears.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” His teeth were crooked when he smiled, but unbearably white, like he gargled with bleach. He gazed at Vixen and Dean in turn, frowning at the huge knife Dean still brandished. “Did we interrupt?” He glanced at Dr. Savage. “I admit, I meant to. I wanted to meet you all at once. Looking very much forward to the birth of your child, Celia. And Ian—yes, it’s no wonder those blood dealers came for you, is it?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ian said, “but I don’t know who you are.”

  “Olivier Winsome of the Stadium Lamia. I’m Nicholas’s boss. He’s one of my favorite employees, truly. So multi-talented, wouldn’t you agree, Amora?”

  She purred.

  Imogene groaned and rolled her eyes. “Keep it in your pants, bitch.”

  Olivier laughed. “Goodness, her language is enough to make one’s toes curl.”

  Dr. Savage, unfrozen from whatever panic had seized her, clasped her hands and stood up straight. “Olivier, can I offer you some blood?”

  “Oh, Rayna, that’s so kind, but no. Amora and I have other things to attend to in the city.” He sighed toward the ceiling like a dreaming dragon. “Nicholas, come see me tomorrow evening. We have business to discuss.”

  Nicholas looked nowhere near his boss and stood instead, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor.

  “It was very nice to meet all of you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you soon.” He reached out his hand to Dr. Savage. “Rayna.”

  Imogene noticed the doc’s hand shook as she extended it, and Olivier kissed it, twice.

  “Always a pleasure, my dear. Ta,” he said as he exited the room. Amora followed quickly after but not before pinning Nicholas with a gaze that said something between “fuck me” and “fuck you.”

  The front door clicked closed and Dr. Savage melted into a meditative pose on the floor. Dean still held his knife. Vixen crept out from behind the couch, where she must have felt safe. Imogene kept one hand on Ian’s wrist, the other on Celia’s. Nicholas gave her a look, and that look told her everything they had was about to burn up like vamp skin at sunrise.

  “I need to tell you why I’m really here,” he said, straight at Imogene.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not here to…” He glanced at Dr. Savage. “I’m not here as a medical doctor.”

  “Then what the hell are you here for?” Dean asked. The knife in his hand reflected golden candlelight.

  “I’m here on SL business, for Olivier.” Nicholas put his hands on his hips. “It was my only way out, the only way I could get him off my back.”

  When no one spoke, he continued.

  “They have something on me, Imogene. When Rain called and said there was a baby, I realized I’d found my ticket to freedom.”

  “You make yourself sound like a prisoner,” Dr. Savage said from her seat on the floor. Her fingers tickled the floor, sword within reach.

  “Indentured servant, perhaps.”

  “What do they have on you?” Imogene let go of her friends and folded her arms in front of her. In the near darkness, her lover’s face was half lit.

  “I killed a young girl,” he said.

  Dean took a huge step forward, frozen only when Dr. Savage said, “Don’t.” She stood. “When? How?”

  “Ten years ago.” He faced them, seemingly unsure who might pounce first. “Amora and I had cut ties. You know that, Rain. It had been over a century since we’d laid eyes on each other. Then, one night, I woke in a cellar somewhere. Amora had taken precautions to make certain I could not escape. She wanted me back—‘like old times,’ she said—and I refused. She kept me there for months.”

  Imogene could guess what came next.

  “Months and longer,” he continued. “Then, one night, the door opened, and a little girl walked in. Bleeding. And I couldn’t stop.” He shook his head. “Time passed again until I was too weak to move, which was when Amora brought Olivier. They said they wouldn’t tell the hunters what I’d done if I worked for them, and I have. I’ve done everything Olivier has asked of me, no matter how horrible. I have tortured and maimed. I have kidnapped vampires with extraordinary powers for Olivier to use for his benefit.”

  “Rayna.” Dean took another step forward, a soldier waiting for the order to kill.

  She put her hand up. “Wait.”

  “When you called about the baby, I saw my way out.”

  “How?” Imogene said, although she was surprised she still had a voice at all.

  “I promised Olivier I would take the child once it was born and bring it back to him—a possible centerpiece for his growing army. Imagine a vampire that can perhaps survive in daylight. He couldn’t pass that up, so he agreed to set me free if I brought the child.” He looked toward Imogene. “You were right about The Drift Inn. You saw me there prior to the wedding. I arrived a week early to watch Celia, watch all of you. I was stalking you.”

  The atmosphere of the entire room changed from careful listening to a seething undercurrent of murmurs and hisses.

  Ian shoved Imogene sideways. “You’re not getting anywhere near my kid.”

  Nicholas held up his hands. “I didn’t know any of you when I set this plan into motion. Celia, Ian, I did not know.”

  “It’s general knowledge that stealing a baby is just fucking wrong, Nicholas,” Imogene said. “Even I know that.”

  “Christ, I murdered my own parents and set London on fire!”

  There was a general consensus of “gasp.”

  “My moral compass has never pointed north.”

  Dean stepped on top of the table. “I’ve been waiting to chop your head off since you got here, pretty boy.”

  Nicholas curled his hands into fists. “Give me your best shot.”

  Dr. Savage seemed frozen to the spot, gaze darting from Dean to Nicholas. Vixen covered her face with her hands. Celia was half hysterical, and Ian’s shoulders were scrunched up around his ears. Imogene, strangely, felt like the sanest person in the room, which was why she jumped between Nicholas and Dean, reached into the pocket of her jeans, and pulled out her keychain.

  Dean thought she was protecting Nicholas. Nicholas apparently thought the same, because he didn’t jump away when she pressed the security system key fob to his face and pushed the button.

  Nicholas flew backwards, slammed into the wall, and knocked a few paintings onto the floor. He fell on the ground, unconscious.

  “Shit,” Dean said.

  Imogene leaned down and smacked Nicholas in the face—no reaction. “Do you have a place to lock him up?” She looked up at Dean. “A place that will keep him locked up?”

  The hunter nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Imogene.” Dr. Savage appeared at her side.

  “Not the time for conversation, doc. We need to move him before he wakes up, because God knows he’s stronger than all of us.”

  “The sun room,” Dean said.

  Imogene lifted Nicholas by his armpits. “Sun room?”

  Dean glanced at Dr. Savage. “Don’t ask. Just move. And remind me to get us some of those.” He nodded at Imogene’s key fob. “Zapper things.”

  She and Dean carried Nicholas up a flight of steps, then another. Halfway up, she muttered, “Get a damn elevator.”

  The r
est of their party followed close behind.

  They finally reached a door that led out onto the roof of the house, and even Imogene was surprised to find a big, metal cage, overlooking the black Gulf of Mexico. “Kinky,” she said.

  “We’re hunters, Imogene,” Dean snapped. “Sometimes vampires gotta burn.”

  They tossed Nicholas inside. Dean locked the cage and then flipped a switch near the door that led back downstairs. An electric crackle and buzz hummed in the night.

  “Okay.” Imogene stared down at Nicholas, still knocked out.

  “We can’t keep him here for long.”

  Imogene looked back to see Dr. Savage, arms wrapped around herself with eyes toward the horizon.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Imogene said.

  Celia stood with Ian’s arms around her. “What?”

  “Imogene, you’re not suggesting—”

  She cut Ian off and turned to Dr. Savage. “If this wasn’t Nicholas, what would you have done already?”

  The doctor looked pale, haunted. “Chopped his head off.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re going to let him die?” Celia said.

  Imogene felt the way they stared at her—all of them. Even Dean looked a touch uncomfortable. “He’s planning to steal Celia’s baby. Why are you looking at me like I’m the monster?”

  “But you…” Celia took Ian’s hand. “You love him.”

  Nicholas woke behind them with a choking fit. Imogene turned in time to see his eyes open and take in the scene. “Oh, God.”

  “The bars are electric. Wouldn’t touch them if I were you,” Dean said.

  He shoved himself to his feet and weaved a bit.

  “How long until sunrise?” Imogene asked.

  Dean gazed into the sea. “Five hours or so.”