Mercy's Destiny: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #3) (Montgomery's Vampires Series)

by Sloan Archer

  “You don’t know anything for certain yet. Your situation might resolve itself in due time,” Liz reminded me. She pulled the chenille throw down from the back of the sofa and smoothed it over her legs, more out of residual human habit than coldness. Vampires were impervious to weather and environmental conditions, the only exception being the sun, which would fire roast them to a crisp. “But you get what I’m saying about the living situation. It was rough for David, I’m sure, living with somebody who couldn’t go out in the sun, who didn’t eat, who kept bottles of human blood in the fridge. I totally get that.”

  “Yah,” I said, “but that’s kind of—and I hope you don’t mind me saying this—bullshit how little he tried to reconcile with you. You think he would have given it more time. You guys have been together for years and years as a boyfriend and girlfriend. But now that you’re an actual married couple, David bailed on you after a few months? That’s nuts.”

  “I know it is,” Liz agreed. “I knew something wasn’t quite right between David and me after I changed over. He was happy that I’d come back from the dead, naturally, but as a couple we were sort of . . . off. And then we went ahead and got married anyway.”

  “It was the next reasonable step, right?” I said, hoping to make her feel better. Liz, who was normally a flaming ball of redheaded sunshine, was clearly in a lot of pain.

  Liz shrugged. “I guess we were hoping that our love was strong enough to persevere. But some obstacles were just too big for us to get over.”

  “When did he leave?” I asked.

  “Last week. He’s staying with his brother over in Cotati.”

  “Aw, Liz, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Liz adjusted the blanket, pulling it up under her arms. “Yah, that’s exactly what you would have needed with everything you and Robert have been dealing with—Leopold’s serum, the VGO, Mathew . . .” She chuckled. “You’re all about the drama, mamma.”

  “I know. And I used to think of my life as tame. I can’t remember the last time I felt bored.” I sighed. “Oh the good ole days . . .”

  Getting back to her crumbling marriage, Liz said, “The final straw was when David was hospitalized over the whole VGO thing.”

  “Maybe it will help things if he knew Mathew was dead,” I suggested.

  “Doubt it. David started . . . I guess you could say he berated me for being vampire the very instant he was released from the hospital. I’m not exaggerating. He started in on me in the hospital parking lot as I was pushing his wheelchair out to the car.”

  “What did he say?”

  She scowled. “He said that we would never be safe as long as I was vampire. That our life would constantly be about lying to our friends and family. That he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the charade.”

  “The charade?”

  “Well, yah,” she said in a tone that implied that what she’d been referring to should have been obvious. “Everyone David and I know, barring Robert and Marlena, is human. David is super close with his family—his brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. They’re always doing barbeques at his parents’ house, with all his aunts and uncles and cousins. They’re all kumbayah over there. I had to stop going once I turned vampire, of course, because they’d have their barbeques during the day.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Unless you wanted to be barbequed.”

  Liz chuckled hollowly. “David had to start making up stories about why I wasn’t going over there. The whole ‘she had to work’ excuse could only be used for so long. He hated it, lying to his family.”

  “Keep talking,” I said, heading towards the kitchen. “I’m just grabbing some aspirin. My head is killing me. You want another drink?”

  “No, I’m good. I should go soon. I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I assured Liz when I came back. I popped the aspirin and chugged down an entire pint of water, which I’d learned was the best way to prevent a hangover. That and not drinking to begin with. “It’s nice having the company. I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight, anyway. I’ve got somebody from the VGO coming tomorrow night to take their first helping of my blood, so I’m nervous.” I made a face. “I’m so looking forward to that.”

  Liz asked, “You don’t think they’ll send Serena?”

  “God, I seriously hope not,” I glowered. “But I have no idea who they’ll send. Why would the VGO tell me anything? I’m just a trifling human.”

  “If they do send Serena you should stake her.”

  “Don’t tempt me Liz,” I said, not wanting to discuss Bitch Face anymore. “Okay, so you were talking about David. How he hated lying?”

  “Oh right. He hated lying to his family and his friends. I sleep in a lightproof chamber, right? Try explaining that when you’re giving somebody a tour of your home.” She shrugged. “I guess David took a solid look at the life he was building with me and decided it wasn’t worth all the hassle.”

  “Bastard men,” I said nastily. “What is it, national dump your woman month?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I suppose I’ve never had to deal with the same sort of things David had to deal with,” I admitted. “At this point, I know more vampires than humans. Actually, I don’t have any close humans in my life now that Grams is gone and you’re a vamp. So I don’t really have to lie to many people about my situation. Life seems to be a lot less complicated for us loners.”

  “You think—and this is only if things are done with you and Robert, which I don’t believe they are—you’ll go back to dating human men?” Liz asked. “Or will you stick with the vamps?”

  “Once you go blood, you’ll never . . .” I snapped my fingers. “Once you feel tooth, all else is . . . uncouth?”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m trying to come up with a clever slogan for vampires. You know, like once you go black, you’ll never go back?”

  “You nerd,” she laughed. I loved that about the relationship my best friend and I had, that even when things were at their most dire we could still find a way to cheer each other up with crappy jokes.

  I said, “Once you get bitten, you’ll be smitten.”

  “Once you feel fang, all you want is vamp wang,” she said, and I cracked up.

  “Once you . . . Nah, I got nothing.” I sniggered. “You win this battle.”

  “I’ll expect full credit and movie rights,” Liz said blandly. And then: “So? Vamp or human men?”

  “In the past hour or so that I’ve been single, Liz, I haven’t had too much time to think about it,” I told her.

  “Okay, point taken.”

  “But I guess . . . I guess I’ll probably stick with the vamps.”

  “Really?” This stunned her.

  “Sure. Or I’ll get a thousand cats and move into a log cabin in Siberia.”

  “Now you’re taking things too far,” Liz said with a snort. “At least go somewhere warm with your thousand cats. Hawaii, maybe.”

  5

  I woke the next morning with the sun blazing on my face through the windows, as if its sole purpose of rising had been to locate me sleeping and singe my retinas.

  I sat up on the sofa and scratched my head, which didn’t hurt as badly as I’d expected it to, thank you very much aspirin and water. The throw Liz had been using was wrapped around me snugly, which made me appreciative of her thoughtfulness.

  I must have passed out while Liz and I were talking, because I couldn’t remember her leaving. She obviously had, though, or else she would be sitting next to me, a mound of sparkling black ash with two white fangs on top.

  I wondered if Liz was still in the house, which was possible if she’d gone underground to rest for the day in Robert’s basement sleeping chamber. I shuffled over to the window and checked for her car in the driveway. Nope. She was gone.

  Though I was frequently on my own during daylight hours, the house felt exceptionally lonely since I knew Robert was gone. I hated i
t. And I hated thinking about Robert being asleep somewhere else because it reminded me of the sexy blond vamp he was doing it next to.

  I went into the kitchen to make coffee, but even the small task of scooping grounds into the basket seemed daunting. Depression is a crippling emotion, no? And I was feeling lazy.

  I cupped a hand over my mouth and exhaled. My breath was kicking. No way I could go out into public with my mouth stinking like that and not potentially kill somebody.

  Out of nowhere, I felt sick. I ran into the bathroom and emptied my guts into the toilet, dropping down to my knees at the last second. There wasn’t much—I’d eaten very little the night before—but what had come out was tinged purple and tasted of spoiled wine. Yuck. I straightaway felt better when I was done, like I’d barfed all the dizziness from my body.

  I brushed my teeth. My hair was looking pretty rat’s-nesty, so I raked an oversized comb through it. I was single now, I reminded myself resentfully, so going out in public looking like hell wasn’t going to help my cause. I wet my finger with spit and scrubbed the mascara off from underneath my eyes. Because I’m a classy broad, goddammit.

  I went to a different place to get my coffee, since the usual spot, Lakeside Plaza, was the site of Mathew’s decapitation. With it only being the morning after the murder, I wasn’t quite ready to revisit.

  I squinted my eyes shut as a vision of the crime scene jolted my brain—Mathew’s stiff feet aimed at the moon, the congealed blood drying on the pebbled sidewalk, those looky-loos and their cell phone cameras. Mathew’s eyes had been open when he was murdered. I knew this because his lifeless blue eyeballs, like two dull marbles, had locked with mine as the crime scene investigator pulled his decapitated head from the water. I could have sworn he’d winked at me.

  I’d probably need therapy.

  But at that particular moment, I needed coffee more.

  I gave the teenager on the other end of the drive-thru speaker my order and then pulled around the bend to wait in line for my coffee. A line of cars sat in front of me, which I’d expected at that time of the morning. But I still felt put out nonetheless. Oh whah! I have to wait for my coffee! First World problems, I know.

  Irritation jabbed at my gut when I noted that the freakin’ boat-van in front of me was packed to the gills with six dudes. They looked like they were members of a traveling band. The van’s blue and white license plate declared that they were from New York. I bet their order will take eons to fill, I seethed, being a bitter Betty. This was not because they were from New York, of course, but because there were six of them.

  I glared at the tank on wheels, just knowing that they’d ordered a bunch of pastries that required heating and complicated half-caf-half-decaf-part-skim-part-soy-two-and-a-half-vanilla-pump lattes purely to piss me off. Where have all the real men gone? I raged, gripping the steering wheel like I was trying to strangle it. Was it just me, or was there something really fucking effeminate about men who took longer to order their damn coffees than the average woman took to get ready for a night out on the town?

  I got a better look at the side of the vehicle as it eased around the bend. The van had seen better days, that was for sure. I was right about the band thing; the group’s name was decaled on the side. Swindled 5. That was funny, with there being six guys in the van. Maybe number six was their manager or somebody. I couldn’t see what they had on, but I would have bet that if I could have had a peek inside their closets I’d find an array of brightly-colored skinny jeans, suspenders, button-down lumberjack tops, Ramones t-shirts, Converse sneakers, vintage aviator sunglasses, porkpie hats, and battered Sergeant Pepper jackets.

  Too bad Liz wasn’t with me, I lamented. She loved band boys. The charming, stunning, exotic Liz will have no problem finding a new man, I thought jealously, scowling at my own haggard appearance in the rearview mirror. The circles under my eyes were packing more baggage than United Airlines. Liz would probably have all their numbers programed in her cellphone by now. And backstage passes.

  Swindled 5 were all appealing in a rocker kind of way. They had that disheveled sort of exterior that automatically makes a girl’s mind drift to sex: tousled hair, reedy but toned arms, pouty lips drawn into a cocky smirk. Like they’d just gotten done giving a harem of groupies the finest rodgering of their lives and were only taking a short break to sling back a few shots of whiskey and snort a couple lines of coke before returning to the bedroom for rounds two, three, and four.

  Based on the band’s unenthused expressions, I surmised that I wasn’t the only one who’d tied a few on last night. I examined the driver in the van’s side mirror, his pale elbow jutting through the open window, fingers tap-tap-tapping on the door along with the stereo. He looked like he was really enjoying that cigarette, though its smoke was blowing back through my own window, making me queasy. I wondered if he was the lead singer. That seemed like a lead singer thing to do—blow cigarette smoke with abandon.

  Finally, they pulled up to the window. Here we go, I pouted, looking at the clock on the dashboard. Let’s see if I can manage to get out of here by lunchtime.

  I was pleasantly surprised, however, when the barista passed two trays of simple hot coffees through the window. The driver, bless him and every roadie he’d ever known, even paid in cash. The whole transaction took less than a minute, thus earning Swindled 5 a brand-new fan. I made a mental note to search for their album online when I got home. I was so thankful when they drove off that I decided that I’d even buy a CD.

  The barista’s jaw fell open when I pulled up. I must have looked worse than I realized.

  “Oh, wow!” he gushed. “Awesome.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “That’s a Flying Spur, isn’t it?”

  I looked around the car, thinking that a bug had flown in through the window. “Where? Wait, a what?”

  “Your Bentley!” he was beaming at me like I was a Santa Claus. “I’ve never seen one in person, but it is, isn’t it—a Flying Spur?”

  I had taken Robert’s car, because my own mode of transport, a 2009 Toyota Corolla, was out of gas. I hadn’t wanted to take the time to stop and fill up the tank.

  “Oh,” I said. “I have no idea. It’s my boyfriend’s—” Ouch. That hurt a little. A lot. “It’s a loaner. Maybe it will say the model name on the back? Check when I drive past.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is!” The kid pulled his cell from his back pocket. “You mind?”

  I smiled as politely as possible. I’ll let you take pictures of me naked on the back of an albino alligator if you give me my damn coffee. “Not at all. But I’m going to turn my head when you take it. I just rolled out of bed!” And vomited. And had flashbacks of my late ex’s severed head being pulled out of a fountain. And was dumped by the love of my life last night.

  He snapped a couple of pics and then handed over my coffee. “No charge,” he beamed. “Thanks for, you know.” He held up his cell and gave it a shake.

  “No problem. Thanks for the coffee.”

  I burst into tears as I turned out of the parking lot. I physically ached for Robert, I missed him so much. I pulled off the highway and parked at the very back of a strip mall, beyond caring how nutty I looked as I sat alone in a Flying Bentley whatever, bawling my eyes out and pounding the steering wheel like a lunatic.

  I had no clue how long I sat parked there, but by the time I was finished, so was my coffee. I felt better—sometimes you really do need a good cry. And caffeine.

  I saw a branch of my bank at the corner of the mall, which was convenient. I wanted to check my balance. (Like my usual coffee shop, my go-to ATM was located at the Fountain of Decapitation Plaza.)

  Although I didn’t want to stress myself, I did have to start thinking about finances soon. I nearly started bawling again as I considered the prospect of apartment hunting. Maybe Liz and I could move back in together, since her man had dumped her, too. We could run a lonely heart’s club right out of the apartment, even, and invite other scorn
ed women over. We could sit in a circle, burn sage and our ex’s photos, drink wine and eat raw cookie dough and whatnot.

  I still hadn’t found a job, either, which I realized would make filling out apartment rental applications tough. I vowed to search the classifieds for jobs in the psychology field when I got home (after a nap, that was), so that I could finally put the degree I’d worked so hard to earn to good use. Maybe I’d go back to decoying for Dignitary, meet another delightful vampire.

  Then again, maybe not.

  I grimaced. When had I become the sort of woman who felt incomplete without a man? Pathetic! I needed to be alone for a while, take a few months off from dating and running from vampires who tried their damnedest to kill me. I could do absolutely nothing about my bargain with the VGO—on that one I was stuck for the time being—but I could control the vamps I chose to see in my personal life. Maybe David was right about vampires being more trouble than they’re worth.

  I pulled the jumbo sunglasses from off my crown and slid them onto my face. I looked insane because it was about to rain—Bay Area weather was stealthier than a bitch-faced French vampire pining after your man—but my eyes were puffy from crying.

  Reluctantly, I got out and journeyed towards the ATM. I didn’t want to be that person by starting up my car and driving across the parking lot only so I wouldn’t have to walk an extra fifty feet.

  I’d made it all of ten steps when some creep on a ten-speed jangled his bike bell and simpered, “Hey, sexy lady, you smell delicious.” It was exactly what I needed in a not-at-all kind of way. I rolled my eyes at him, not that he could see this through my dark sunglasses, and skulked on. He muttered a couple words under his breath—snotty bitch—and then peddled away. I shook my head and muttered a few choice words of my own. Why were men such cretins? And when has doing that ever worked for any guy? And what had he expected me to say to that? Why thanks for sniffing me! So glad you’re enjoying my post-vomitus morning funk. I actually drove into this parking lot just so you could marvel at my sexiness. Love the bike bell!