Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series)

by Sloan Archer

  And so I was once again providing Robert with the same reminder I’d been giving him since the night we’d first met. “I can take care of myself.”

  He pulled me in close for a kiss. Robert was always kissing me, which I loved because it made me feel loved.

  “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I continued. “Obviously, I’d rather have a man who cares too much rather than not at all. But, I swear, sometimes it’s like you think I’m made of eggshells.”

  “My lovely, strong woman,” Robert murmured. I could feel him grinning against my face.

  “And I know that you feel guilty, but you shouldn’t.”

  “If it weren’t for my fangs you wouldn’t be in this situation,” he reminded me.

  “Yes, but if it weren’t for my blood,” I countered, “your fangs wouldn’t have fallen out in the first place.”

  “Humph.” Even Robert couldn’t argue with such logic.

  “There’s nobody to blame in this situation, Robert—nobody but Mathew, that is.”

  Ah, the deplorable, conniving, repulsive Mathew, known to some as my ex and fewer as the possessor of two tiny objects that could adversely affect Robert’s heath. Like an old MySpace profile, Mathew was a black mark on my past that I wished I could erase from existence forever, yet he kept popping up to haunt me when I least needed the aggravation.

  Just when I thought Mathew couldn’t sink any lower as a human being, he made the unwise decision to hold Robert’s fangs hostage. Anyone familiar with ancient vampire folklore would appreciate why this was a very bad thing. The possessor of a vampire’s fangs has the power to control their actions. Out of all the people in the entire world who could possibly have command over Robert, my vindictive ex-boyfriend would be my last choice.

  Mathew wanted me back. Unfortunately for him, the very idea of being enveloped in his seedy arms made me want to hurl. He’d been a terrible boyfriend back when I was with him—lying, cheating, and selfishness were his specialties. He was an even worse ex, which I’d discerned after having to deal with his lunacy on more than a few occasions.

  Rather than being a standup guy and giving the fangs back simply because I’d asked for them (and, you know, because it was the right thing to do), he was refusing to do so unless I agreed to see him. Without Robert. I knew why Mathew insisted on this demand. He wanted to try to win me back.

  Again.

  Mathew and I had been down this road before. I’d spurned him in-person, via email, and on the phone. I was running out of outlets to reject him on. If he kept up the insanity, I’d soon have to start running Yellow Page searches on singing telegrams, carrier pigeons, and skywriters, though I doubted even a gigantic MATHEW, I DO NOT WANT TO BE WITH YOU written in the sky would make him get a clue.

  Besides Mathew’s latest plan being utterly delusional in origin (did he seriously believe that I was going to leave my caring, handsome, wealthy boyfriend for him?), it seemed illogical. How Mathew thought that acting like his typical scheming self would show me how much he’d changed was beyond me. As my late grandmother used to say: Girl, there just is no reasoning with crazy.

  “It’s not like I’m meeting Mathew in private,” I said to Robert. “And would you please stop pacing like that? It’s making me dizzy.”

  Robert joined me on the sofa. “I’m sorry that I keep going on like a broken record.” This was a phrase he’d learned from me a couple weeks prior. Robert liked it so much that I was beginning to suspect that he purposely went on like a broken record just so that he could say that he was.

  “I can’t fault you for being concerned. Trust me when I tell you that I’d rather eat a bowl of runny eggs than face Mathew.” I hated runny eggs. Agh! So slimy! “But you and I both know that he isn’t dangerous—just a pest.” I hoped this remained the case, anyway. Mathew’s behavior had become increasingly unpredictable, but now was not the time to point this out to Robert.

  “Yes, well . . .”

  “More importantly, what we do know is that he could inflict some serious damage if he finds out what he could do with your fangs. We can’t waste any time with this. We’ve been home for a month, Robert. The longer we let Mathew hang on to those fangs, the better chance he has of either changing his mind about giving them back or discovering their power.”

  This was a harsh reality that Robert couldn’t dispute. While Mathew had at no time been violent in nature, he did despise Robert on such a level that he very well could have changed his ways. Also, Mathew knew Robert’s vampire secret and had made his feelings on my boyfriend’s “deadness” very clear. Mathew may not even view it as murder if he used the fangs to make Robert walk out into the sun, which would kill him in a heartbeat, since in Mathew’s opinion Robert was already deceased. And Mathew was just irrational enough to believe that killing my boyfriend would help pave the way for his return.

  The sooner we got those fangs back, the better. We’d tried getting them back quicker, but it had taken us weeks to track Mathew down. The weasel had gone into hiding.

  It was best not to provoke Mathew, which was why I believed the situation was especially aggravating to Robert. Normally, Robert would have had no issues toying with Mathew—if he actually cared enough to spite him, that is, which he didn’t—simply because he could. In the physical sense, Robert was laughably unafraid of my ex. Robert could have torn Mathew limb from limb as effortlessly as he’d ripped the zipper from my dress. Robert had even offered to do so, which I wouldn’t allow. Unlike Mathew, I was not a vindictive savage. Still, I wouldn’t have minded smacking Mathew around. Sometimes when I worked out to my kickboxing DVDs, I imagined that it was Mathew I was beating up.

  Mathew had a scrounger way about him. I could never figure out how he managed it, but he always seemed conveniently placed in exactly the right position to get his way through nonphysical means. I wouldn’t dare say that he was clever—he wasn’t, believe me—but more like a squirrel that stashed away objects and information that he could later use to manipulate those around him.

  He’d used his knowledge of my life with Robert to aid the Vampire Globalist Organization in their search for me, back when they were still searching for me. Now that the VGO misunderstanding was cleared up, I had Robert’s fang mess to contend with.

  “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” I grumbled with a sigh.

  “Things will calm down soon, darling,” Robert promised. “And we can have that normal life you keep talking about.” He said this as if it were funny, which I supposed it was, since life with vampires was anything but normal.

  “Yah, yah. I’ll believe it when I see it,” I said. “But I’ll tell you what, Robert. If Mathew continues being a pest, I might be tempted to reconsider your offer to murder him.”

  Robert grinned at this.

  “I’m joking,” I clarified with haste. “Sort of.”

  Robert winked. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “We also have to think about Serena,” I reminded Robert, switching topics. “Who knows what harm Bitch Face is capable of inflicting.”

  I knew Robert was plenty concerned about Serena, who was a vampire and member of the VGO. I’d only wanted the opportunity to call her Bitch Face. In addition to flirting obscenely with Robert during our trip to VGO headquarters, Serena had hinted that she knew that Mathew had Robert’s fangs. Whether she’d ascertained this knowledge via Mathew or by reading my mind, I wasn’t clear. In truth, I couldn’t be positive that she did know. She’d sure made it seem like she did know, though she could have simply been putting on an act to mess with my head, nasty piece of work that she was.

  Robert was formulating his next words carefully, I could tell. The subject of Serena was a sore one for me. “Yes, but we don’t know for sure that Serena actually does know that Mathew has my fangs.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing, but . . .” I puffed out my cheeks and then released my breath noisily. “If we’ve learned anything at all about the VGO, Robert, it’s th
at it’s wisest to err on the side of caution. Am I right?”

  Robert folded his arms across his chest, resigned. “Yes. I suppose you are.”

  I did my best to look haggard for my meeting with Mathew: no makeup, stained grey sweatpants, hair in a frizzy ponytail, and an angry scowl. Since Mathew was mentally unstable, I’d suggested that we meet by the large pyramid-shaped fountain that was located in the local outdoor strip mall. Though we were meeting at nighttime, I felt it was safe. I’d never seen Lakeside Plaza when it wasn’t busy, and I’d been there plenty because that’s where I went to get my coffee when I was feeling too lazy to make it at home.

  There were a couple other reasons why I’d chosen the fountain. The first was that it was located next to a high-end children’s boutique that, in addition to specializing in expensive leather teddy bears, sold mini cupcakes that kids got to design with their toppings of choice. There were few things that I could envision being less romantic than a bunch of spoiled kids squawking about wanting double sprinkles on their desserts.

  The second reason was more practical. The fountain was smack-dab in the center of the mall, where all four sides of the parking lot joined together. If I parked strategically, my car would be close to the fountain. This was in case Mathew started to make a scene, which I was expecting. He’d caught me off-guard the last time I’d agreed to meet him, bursting into tears in a coffeehouse full of people. Lesson learned on that one. This time I’d be prepared.

  Mathew had initially tried to con me into meeting him at his house, which had caused me to laugh so hard that I’d actually started coughing. Not in a million years would that be happening, I’d told him on the phone. Robert had backed that sentiment by shaking his head and mouthing No way. Uh, no duh, Robert.

  I could only imagine how that visit at Mathew’s would have gone down: fast food waiting for me on a scuffed coffee table, crumbles of dried pot leaves stuck to the bottom of my Styrofoam soda cup . . . Mismatched stubs of candles, which Mathew had lifted from some tacky curbside restaurant, illuminating our meal . . . Whiny rock ballads setting the mood, reverberating sadly from a nineties boom box . . . Video games offered up for dessert.

  I’d done some embarrassing things in my lifetime, but dating Mathew just might have been number one. Like residual trauma leftover from a bad perm, every time I thought of him I couldn’t help asking myself: What had I been thinking? I could only hope that he’d go away for good after I’d commandeered Robert’s fangs, but I wasn’t optimistic on that front. Mathew had the tenacity of a tick.

  As I arrived at Lakeside Plaza, I was once again reminded just how silly it was of me to wish for a positive outcome in any situation that involved Mathew. My first indication that something was amiss was the group of shoppers gathered around the fountain. My initial assumption, of course, was that Mathew had gotten a head start on his meltdown. But how wrong I was.

  I knew it was Mathew, and that he was dead, before I saw all of him. I knew this because of the sneakers, which were motionless and pointed skyward, and the only things I could see through the crowd. Mathew had worn the same brand for as long as I’d known him. While the style and stripes always remained the same, the color was ever changing. His feet were clad in tan suede today, though they were and stained red by the violence that had been inflicted upon him.

  I instantly felt bad for having so many evil thoughts about Mathew during my drive over to meet him. It was no great secret that the love I’d felt for him had run out a very long time ago. That didn’t mean, however, that I’d wanted him dead.

  Imagining how Mathew’s death would affect his mother and sister was what made me saddest of all. Mathew had been an absolutely terrible boyfriend—really, there was no denying it—but he’d always been good to his family. His father had passed away when he was very young, so Mathew stepped up to take care of his family. He’d become the man of the house at an age when most kids were preoccupied with little league tryouts and dance recitals, which I’d always respected him for.

  I elbowed my way through the slack-jawed ghouls who were taking videos on their cellphones and gaping at Mathew’s body like it was a Rembrandt up for auction. Disgusting excuses for human beings, every single one of them. What if it was their deceased son on the ground?

  I’d always found people who took videos of crime scenes perplexing. What exactly did they do with the footage—save it for occasions when they felt particularly nostalgic for that time they witnessed a murder? Human behavior exasperated me on so many levels, which was yet another reason why my boyfriend and best friend were vampires. Living people didn’t seem to get me. And I was okay with that, since I didn’t get them much, either.

  For an insane moment I wondered if Mathew had committed suicide to get back at me. Maybe he’d taken a handful of pills, timing it perfectly so he’d keel over at my feet as I made my approach. His plan might have even worked, had he not been foiled by my tardiness. The theory was ludicrous, of course, because of the river of blood surrounding Mathew’s body.

  I didn’t think Mathew had been in an accident, either. Accidents usually didn’t summon a motorcade of police officers and crime scene investigators. And there were plenty here. Whatever crime had been committed, it had evidently happened very recently.

  It was awful, but I couldn’t help thinking about how fortunate it was that I’d showed at the fountain ten minutes late. I’d actually arrived at the plaza on time, but had needed to circle the lot twice before I could find a spot close to the fountain. No way was I going to risk having Mathew screaming after me as I walked half a mile to my car. Guess my worry had been unnecessary, considering.

  I tried getting the attention of an officer, who ignored me at first, dismissing me as one of the rubbernecking ghouls. After I explained who I was and why I was there, however, he was suddenly mighty interested in getting to know me.

  The officer ducked under the caution tape, leading me away from the crime scene and over to a bench a few yards away. The bench’s thin metal slats, chilled from the costal air, bit painfully at my skin through my sweatpants as I took a seat. I was wishing that I’d dressed better, as if my disheveled appearance somehow implicated me of wrongdoing, which was absurd. I waited for the officer to start with the questions. Perhaps I was getting wiser with age, or maybe I’d witnessed enough crime that I knew the drill, but I realized that nervously yammering on and on would be the fastest way to incriminate myself.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Thanks to my family and dear friends who have kept me from straying too far off the path during this topsy-turvy journey: Mom, Amanda Caudwell, M-2 and D-2, Jeralyn Pribyl, Sean McGill, Ashley Chase, and Brandon Marlan.

  And a huge thanks to all you lovely readers for taking an interest in Mercy Montgomery. I hope you love reading about her life as much as I enjoy creating it.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  Sloan Archer has been writing fiction since childhood; her first works were dark short stories inspired by howling coyotes on her family's farm, penned while Sloan was in grammar school. When Sloan isn't creating novels, she enjoys world travel, painting, and live music. She resides in Los Angeles.

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