“This morning, I was an IRS agent.”
“I think,” said Lenette, chuckling, “that zombies are better liked.”
Her lips glistened with some kind of gloss that he very much wanted to taste. She wore very little make-up, but she didn’t need it. He’d never been so enamored of a woman before. Decisive as always, Meyer leaned forward and kissed her, a brief tender invasion that made his heart skip a beat. He drew back, just a little, and gauged her reaction.
Lenette smiled, and cupped his cheek. “Hmm. Not bad for a zombie. But maybe you should give it another try, just to make sure I like it.”
So, he did.
Note from the Author: Meyer and Lenette show up in some of the Broken Heart books, including Book 9, Only Lycans Need Apply.
Deleted Scene from Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire
Ta-da! I interrupt this masterpiece to bring you Jessica’s point-of-view. Heh. Heh. I learned how to glamour mortals so don’t blame our historian; she’s staring at the laptop with drool hanging off her lip. When she awakes, she won’t remember this little insertion into the book. Don’t mess with the Jess, people!
Yeah, I know, I know. It’s shitty of me to butt in right when Eva gets knocked out and … oh, sorry. You’ll have to read Chapter 8.
Can you believe that Eva and Lorcan sooooo totally have the hots for each other? I mean, c’mon, the librarian and the monk? That’s perfect. I think they rock as a couple and hey, if I have to … um, encourage them (i.e. push them together at every freaking opportunity), I damned sure will.
Sometimes, people falling in love (or lust, whatever) fight and fight and fight their attraction. I know this from my own experience and when I finally admitted I loved Patrick, it was like being able to eat chocolate again. Wait. Let me think about that for a moment. Ooooooooooooooh.
Er … what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, the librarian and the monk.
Aren’t they cu-ute together?
Gak! The historian is starting to twitch. Maybe I don’t have this glamouring thing down as well as I thought.
Okay, okay, I’m going. Sheesh. Oh! One more thing! The next person in the outside world who calls me a bad mother is gonna wake up with fangs in her (or his) neck. I’m The Vampire, That’s Why was like, y’know, a month out of my life. That’s it—a whole flippin’ month. And you’re gonna give me crap about my undead parenting skills? Puh-lease.
Yikes! I really gotta go.
Pretend I was never here, okay?
* * * * *
“Mom,” said my fifteen-year-old daughter as she watched me pull on my well-used Nikes, “you’re a vampire.”
“I am?” I rounded my eyes in exaggerated horror. “And all this time I thought I was allergic to sunlight.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”
Grinning, I lifted my left eyebrow and said in a bad Dracula voice, “I vant to suck your blood.”
“Oh my gawd.” Tamara slapped a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. “Swear on your undead soul to never do that again.”
I laughed and finished lacing my shoes. “I don’t run for the exercise.”
Before I was—as my daughter put it—“vampified,” I ran two miles every day. As a vampire, I didn’t need exercise. In fact, getting killed had rid me of cellulite, acne scars, and crow’s feet. But I wanted to remain connected to my previous life. So much else had been taken away— sunrise and road trips and ice cream (oh the lamentable joy of a Ben & Jerry’s pint).
We sat on the rickety front porch stairs of our three-story house. The place was in major disrepair, but I couldn’t afford to fix it. The smells of dust and mold were still prevalent despite a hefty investment in Glade candles and two Ionic Breeze machines.
I was Broken Heart’s librarian, a job my paternal grandmother had held until her death a year ago. We shared the same name—Evangeline Louise LeRoy—but that was our only link. My father died when I was two-years-old; my mother had lost touch with the LeRoys long ago. Inheriting the job and the mansion/library had been a lucky break for me and Tamara. We needed a fresh start.
Becoming a vampire wasn’t what I had in mind.
The light from a sliver of moon shone down on us. When I was pregnant with Tamara, every kind of life cycle fascinated me (for obvious reasons). I studied the moon phases most fervently because I was way into symbolism and the whole “light in the darkness” thing appealed to me. That’s why I knew tonight’s lunar phase was called “waning crescent.” Lord-a-mercy, I knew all kinds of useless information. Ask me how much water a new toilet flushed and I could tell you it was 1.6 gallons. Ask me how to get to the Thrifty Sip, Broken Heart’s only convenience store, and I’d get you lost in nothing flat.
As it neared the end of August, summer still clutched Oklahoma in a lover’s embrace. The air felt humid and hot, even now, when the sun had been down for hours. A breeze offered some respite and brought with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle, a flower that bloomed nearly everywhere in town.
I was dressed in a green sports bra and matching running shorts, my red hair pulled into a ponytail. Tamara, as usual, was dressed in unrelenting black. She eschewed the term “Goth,” though she kohled her eyes, wore blood-red lipstick, and brought the word “sullen” to whole new level of meaning. Her hair was cut chin-length and colored raven-black except for the two cherry-red stripes on either side of her face. She also had one eyebrow and her belly button pierced with silver rings—and that was the compromise. My darling daughter had wanted her tongue pierced and a coiling snake tattooed on her ankle.
“I thought Jessica was coming with you tonight.”
“Nope. Her mother is still upset.” Jessica’s mother unexpectedly arrived in town yesterday evening and discovered that her daughter had been turned into a vampire. Not only that, Jessica had also gotten remarried—to one of the most gorgeous vampires on the planet—Patrick O’Halloran.
Patrick had an equally gorgeous twin brother, Lorcan O’Halloran, but he didn’t hang out with the townsfolk. After all, he was the rampaging beast who’d attacked eleven of us single parents, draining us of all blood and unintentionally killing us. If the Consortium—a sorta vampire Peace Corps—hadn’t rolled into town and brought several vampire Masters willing to Turn us—none of us would be alive. Well, undead.
Three months had passed since Lorcan yanked me out of my car and noshed on my neck. If you’ve ever read those romance novels where the soul-tortured vampire hero reluctantly brings his mortal woman to the Other Side—well, my experience was the exact opposite of that.
I had just returned from an ice cream run and had gotten out of my little VW bug. As I shut the door, I heard a shuffling noise, followed by a growl. There was nothing sexy about big, furry paws grabbing my hips and or sharp, icky teeth digging into my throat. The scariest thing about what happened was that I couldn’t see my attacker. I felt him—he’d been huge, hairy, snarling. When he was finished, he tossed me into the driveway and loped away.
Then I died.
The worst part was that I never got to eat that pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.
When I woke up, I was latched to the neck of a vampire named Mortimer. Yeah, I know—someone named Mortie saved my life. After Tamara got over the shock of my death and my vampification, she often crooned lines from “The Monster Mash” just to annoy me. As for Mortie, he’d returned to his wife in London and left my vampire lessons to the other Masters who’d decided to stick it out in Broken Heart.
Y’see, Lorcan had been suffering from the Taint, a terrible disease that only affected vampires. Everyone was scrambling for a cure, including the Consortium. They’d managed to rid Lorcan of it, but whatever they’d done seemed to only work for him.
After we got all the vampire stuff straightened out, the Consortium revealed it had been buying out residences and businesses in Broken Heart. They wanted to build the first ever paranormal community in the States. Over the summer, nearly all the human residents had moved out. The tow
n was practically empty, its buildings under constant demolition and construction.
“Sunrise is in one hour,” said Tamara sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“I know how to tell time.”
“I wasn’t sure,” she said drolly, “since you don’t have a watch.”
“I have acute vampire senses, thank you very much.” I did a few stretches and then jumping jacks.
“If your senses fail, then it’s ustulation via dawn’s early light.” She grinned evilly. “You don’t want to end up a grilled steak.”
“Ustulation?” I stopped my useless warm-up and gaped at her. That little fiend! “Reminding your mother that she can be burned or seared isn’t very nice.”
She grinned. “Nyah. Nyah. I used the word of the day before you did.”
Tamara and I had a daily contest. The “word of the day” was chosen from a list we kept pinned to the wall. Whoever used the chosen word first got ten points, and any use of the word throughout the rest of the day received five points. At the end of the month, we tallied ‘em up. If I had more, she did any heinous daylong chore I wanted. If she had more, I forked over fifty bucks and drove her to the nearest mall.
“Okay, okay. You get a ten-pointer.”
“Sore loser.” Tamara gave me a quick hug, which was thoroughly unlike her. Showing affection to the parental unit was strictly verboten. Since she was in a mood to accept a hug, I risked kissing her cheek. She said nothing, but grimaced in a manner that suggested acid had been applied to her skin.
Chuckling, I jogged down the steps, following the cracked sidewalk through the huge, weed-filled front yard. I waved to her, she waved back, then vroom … I was outta there. Using my new powers to put on the speed always gave me a thrill.
Within minutes, I reached the area me and Tamara had named Ooky Spooky Woods. Broken Heart was surrounded by pockets of thick, tangled brush and densely-packed trees. As a human, I awoke every morning and jogged to this spot, down the winding path and back again. I loved the smell of the woods, the sound of tweeting birds and chattering squirrels, and watching the newly risen sun peek through the canopy of trees. I kept to the old routine—a wispy connection to the past that I relished. Yet, I had to admit that the experience wasn’t quite the same at night.
You’d think a vampire with the ability to run fast, jump high, and hit hard wouldn’t be afraid of walking into a little ol’ forest at 3 a.m. Still, my non-beating heart squeezed as I entered the woods. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped under my Nikes. I picked through the forest debris until I reached my start point—a rotted, fallen tree trunk stuck between an oak tree and a weeping willow.
Branches crackled and leaves fluttered around me. What the heck? I looked up, fear tingling up my spine. Even with Vamp Vision, I couldn’t see anything—or anyone—above me. “Big squirrels,” I muttered. “Or raccoons. Mutant ones.”
The brush was too dense and the ground too pockmarked with holes to veer off the path. I leapt over the log, suddenly nervous. Chill out, Eva. You’re a big, bad vamp, remember?
It took me a while to stop trying to regulate my breathing—a leftover from when I required the intake of oxygen to live. Unnerved by the prickling in my guts, I quickened my pace, dodging low limbs and watching for obstructions.
Then I heard it. Something loped behind me, growling softly. Don’t panic. Could be anything: wild dog, coyote, mutant raccoon. I dared a peek over my shoulder.
And screamed.
The creature was huge and fast, coming at me like a lion after an antelope. Good God! It smelled like it had taken a bath in the sewer. Lorcan? No. Jessica told me that the slobbering, murdering beast he’d become was a temporary side effect of the secret cure.
Terror skittered through me, ravaging my ability to think. Run, Eva, you idiot! I ran faster, but not yet using my vampire speed. I had to wait until I cleared the forest—otherwise I might trip and fall. Then I’d be monster chow for sure.
It howled—an unearthly cry that vibrated my bones. I swear to heaven, I felt its fetid breath on my neck, its claws scraping at my back. I looked over my shoulder again. The thing had gotten closer, but not near enough to grab me. I could see its eyes—glittering with malice and hunger.
My death was in that gaze.
I skittered off the path and dared the gnarled and tangled foliage. Immediately, my foot connected with a fallen branch. Crud! I couldn’t stop the tumble. I went down hard, skidding face-first into a knotty bush. By the time I’d extracted myself and gotten to my feet, it was too late.
The monster of Ooky Spooky Woods had caught up to me.
From the notes of Dr. Stan Michaels
Re: Cure of the Taint
Our last-ditch attempt to cure Lor of the Taint worked, but the requirements for its success make it difficult to recreate. Lor had to be starved, drained of all blood, and transfused with blood given by live, pure-blood lycans. The only reason Lor survived the starvation and the transfusion is because he’s an ancient. Most vampires, especially Turnbloods, won’t survive such an extreme undertaking.
The Taint acts in vampires like meningococcal sepsis acts in humans, only at a much slower rate. Meningococcal sepsis is severe blood poisoning—like the Taint, the bacterial toxins rupture blood vessels and ravage vital organs (in vampires, it is the heart and brain at most risk, since a successful Turning shuts down all other organs).
While meningococcal bacteria enter a human’s bloodstream through the throat, usually due to damage caused by influenza or other infections, transfer of the Taint happens when one vampire takes blood from another. We can’t figure out why a vampire retains the toxic bacteria even with fresh, human blood re-circulating through the system.
We have performed an autopsy and numerous tests on the vampire known as “Gregory,” who was found and killed by a team of Guardians. He had suffered from the Taint and was near death. We interrogated two Wraiths who survived the destruction of their cave headquarters near the Broken Heart Cemetery. They admitted that Gregory had been drained and transfused with the blood from two murdered lycans. Like Lor, he took on several lycan qualities, but the effects were permanent. I hypothesize that transfusing him with blood from dead lycans managed to stall the disease, but did not reverse its effects—he was still insane, though apparently controlled by Ron, the Wraith leader.
Experimentation with other Taint victims shows that blood taken from live lycans via regular (i.e. biting on the neck or thigh) or intravenous means has little to no effect on the disease. We will not do a full transfusion because, as I stated, most vampires will not survive the process. But there is another reason: Further testing has determined that the blood of Damian, Darrius, and Drake, who were the donors of Lor’s transfusion, contains an enzyme, one not yet found in other lycans I’ve tested so far. I believe this enzyme was partially responsible for Lor’s recovery—even though it was probably also responsible for his temporary lycan transformation.
However, it makes no sense for an enzyme found in lycan blood to cure a vampire disease—unless Lor was infected by a vampire with lycan blood. Or, the disease’s source somehow originates from a lycan. This is impossible, of course, because lycans cannot be Turned. None have ever survived the attempts made. And like humans, lycans are immune to the Taint.
Lor has not revealed who infected him. His refusal to do so is puzzling, but even if we knew the details, it probably wouldn’t help us determine a cure.
Truthfully, I am not confident that the key to a vampire disease can be found in a lycan’s blood. In fact, I do not think that isolating this enzyme in an effort to create a cure for the Taint will lead to anything except disappointment.
But for the sake of my friends, for the sake of the Consortium … I will try.
Gaelic Words/Phrases of Love
Táim i ngrá leat = I am in love with you
Tá mo chroí istigh ionat = My heart is within you
A Ghrá or Mo Ghrá = My love
Sonuachar = soul
mate
Is t mo shonuachar = You’re my soulmate
Sonuachar chugat = May you find a soulmate
Do mo shonuachar = To my soulmate
Fíorghrá = true love
A Thaisce = My darling
Céadsearc = First love, beloved one
The Daughter of Dark and of Light
Prophecy of Morrigu
As told to Lorcan, Filí don Tuatha de Danann
No man is apart from another, no matter what makes up his being. Though a deamhan fola might consider himself better than a mortal man, he is no more, no less. A soul is a soul, no matter what form it inhabits.
By my own poisoned blood and my own spoken spell, I decreed that deamhan fola would have neither seed to create nor womb to bear children. And this remains true … with one exception. One day, a child born of a human mother and a vampire father will bring with her into the world the key to dominion and to destruction.
The future is a mirror, one that reflects truth and lies. I cannot determine which fate this unique child will bring to the world. But I tell you this—the choice this woman makes will either save you … or destroy you.
And so, I say to you, the Council of Ancients, prepare for the daughter of dark and of light.
She will arrive when you least expect…
Translated from “the Golden Ones”
(This partially recovered text from destroyed scrolls was found in the Tomb of Set, God of Chaos. It dates to roughly 1800 B.C.E.)
“…and she who holds the world in her hands will choose a mate worthy of her love and her sacrifice. He will receive her gifts most divine … together, they will shine above any other … praise the Golden Ones, beloved of their people, they who rule on high…”
Broken Heart Tails (Broken Heart Vampires) Page 9