Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (20 page)

Slipping, underwear. Argh. “It’s private. I’m not going to pry.”

“Well, I don’t usually bribe. But if you grill him, I’ll let you use my toothbrush.” Cocking a smile, she offered me a couple bars.

“No, I can’t. I mustn’t.” Without my permission, my hand reached for chocolate. At the last minute, I pulled back. “Glynn has a right to his privacy.”

She closed her hand.

I swallowed. “But if he happens to spill, I’ll tell you.”

She opened her hand and I swiped chocolate from her palm.

Entr’acte

After final bows, Glynn escorted Mishela to her dressing room, sticking like glue until the door clicked firmly in his face. Exiled, he paced the hallway, fury eating up the twenty yards as if it were two.

The rogue vampire had cornered her onstage. Corralled her in front of hundreds of witnesses, trapped her between wicked claws and her damned show-must-go-on duty.

His pacing kicked up a notch. Good thing Elias had sent
him
to watch over her. Who else would’ve known she would go ballistic at a normal rescue? Only inserting himself into the action of the musical, though it’d taken him almost too long to find a wand, let him protect her in a way she’d accept.

Which was damned stupid, but he knew how performing artists were, the torrents of energy and self they poured into their art. He’d expended similar amounts distracting people as a child, but not for the sake of art. And not because he’d wanted to, but when you were four years old, you didn’t get a choice. Which was why he made sure he always had one now.

Except when he was boxed in trying to please others, like Mishela.

And Junior.

His pacing stopped abruptly. He sought her out through her blood-taste/scent, as he’d done only half a hundred times since tasting her. She was safe at the VIP reception.

He let her essence wash over him. It calmed him.

He kicked into pacing again, slower now. Almost eight hundred years he’d been a vampire, and in all that time he’d never met anyone like Junior. He wondered what she would say if he told her, “I’m an eight hundred year old monster.”

In his most pleasant dreams, she accepted him, even loved him.

But dreams weren’t reality. Reality was she had dreams of her own, and he’d respect that. Would back off, even though it killed him. Well, killed him again.

Damn it, which job was harder? Thwarting rogue vampires and making the world safer for humans, or trying to respect Junior’s need to remain unentangled?

He’d have to do both. It wouldn’t be easy, but damned Elias had trained him for that too.

He consoled himself that it could be worse. Junior could be the one woman he could love. Not likely, though. He hadn’t found anyone in eight hundred years. A good thing too. If Emerson was anything to judge by, he’d fall in love so deeply, he’d not be worth a sheep’s fart. Which wouldn’t help anybody, not Mishela or Emersons or Elias and especially not Junior.

So. Thwart rogue vampires. Respect Junior’s need for distance. Protect Mishela from a wily kidnapper. And try not to fall in love.

Closing night couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Nine

“Well, that was an interesting show, wasn’t it, Gunter Marie? I especially liked the cute little doggie who played with all the Munchkins. And the charming jig he did, raising his little hind leg…”

Mrs. Ruffles, Detective Dirk’s mom and this year’s Lutheran Ladies president, had cornered me midreception for a “quick” chat. Quick in Ruffles-land was as long as they were breathing, so I’d been there a while.

I would have escaped, but she held a cheese ball in her hand. Mrs. Ruffles is accident-prone like a deer in traffic. (In case you haven’t had that pleasure, deer don’t have the smarts God gave a peanut. When you swerve to avoid them, they swerve
the same way
to hit
you
.) So I stayed real still and hoped she didn’t accidentally bomb me.

Although if she’d had the fluff instead of a mere snot-ball, I would’ve damned the torpedoes and run.

Mrs. Ruffles kept talking. I kept nodding. Oh for a shield, but I’d left instruments and jacket in the prop room. Smile and nod, smile and nod. If I replaced myself with a Junior-sized bobblehead, would she notice?

Suddenly, Mrs. Ruffles broke off. Wow. I’m pretty sure that’s one sign of the apocalypse, after gas prices coming down.

All around me, people turned. Women smiled. Men looked jealous. I turned.

Glynn had glided into the room.

I waved desperately, but he ignored me. The fucker. He was so dead when I cornered him, if being a vampire didn’t mean that already.

“Oh look, Gunter Marie. There is the nice young man who played the pretty witch. Well, not pretty since he is a boy, but handsome. He has such a nice voice, doesn’t he?” She stared at him and waved too.

I did not get to be MC Sausage Executive of the Year by being slow to capitalize on an opportunity. While Mrs. Ruffles’s attention was snared by Glynn, I escaped.

“Such a nice voice, right, Gunter Marie? Gunter Marie?” Without even looking she grabbed me. By the arm.

With the cheese ball hand.

LLAMA balls are a little runny. Nixie says they’re made of pus and mayonnaise. Warmed from Mrs. Ruffles’s hand, it certainly felt like bodily fluids running viscously (and viciously) down my bare arm. My stomach lurched, trying to escape out my mouth. My brain would have followed if it could have fit.

I whimpered.

Glynn was instantly at my side, his face dark with anger and worry. I’d have been gratified if I weren’t so nauseated.

Mrs. Ruffles blinked and actually stopped talking again.

Cheese ball remains dripped steadily down my arm. My expression was probably set on creamed upchuck because Glynn took one look at me and focused his piercing stare on her. He said, “You have work to do.”

Her mouth opened. She echoed, “I have work to do.”

And then, because she was a Ruffles, she added brightly, “Setting out more cheese balls.”

“Cleaning up cheese balls.”

“Cleaning up cheese balls.” She paused. “And then setting up more?”

Glynn clamped eyes momentarily, as if he was gathering strength. Maybe he was. Controlling a Ruffles brain was probably like lassoing wild stampeding horses. Or herding cats.

His eyes opened and he hit her with a stare so hypnotic
I
almost went under. “You will clean up cheese balls. You will set out sausage from the Wurstspeicher Haus. You will quietly excuse yourself to stand in a corner and contemplate higher things. You will—”

“Glynn! There you are.” Emerald, ruby and amethyst paisley beelined in our direction, sans headset. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Correction.” Glynn spoke quickly. “You will latch onto Director Dumas and tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to talk about.” Glynn grabbed my arm and beat a hasty retreat.

Ooh, talk about capitalizing on opportunity. Glynn made me look like a noob.

Mrs. Ruffles turned a bright face toward Dumas. He zigged to catch Glynn. Mrs. Ruffles zigged in his direction. Glynn zagged to avoid him, dragging me.

Dumas zagged. Mrs. Ruffles zagged and broke into a trot. Dumas sped up, but he was only a world-class Broadway director. Mrs. Ruffles was a Lutheran Lady.

She stopped, pointed at two Ladies manning the drinks and desserts tables. Two-fingered, she made you/follow/attack motions like a LLAMarine.

The Ladies picked up cheese balls and moved out. Dumas, his attention on Mrs. Ruffles, never saw them coming.

I turned my head away from the carnage at the last minute. But remembering Method acting, I mentally cheered the Ladies on.

“That was close.” Glynn drew me over to the buffet, where he snared a silk napkin, dipped it into a glass of beer, and gently wiped my arm.

I stared at his long fingers, cleaning me of cheese snot. “That’s an expensive baby wipe.”

“Cloth washes.” He eyed the napkin in his hand. Streaks of eye-scorching orange, possibly radioactive, smeared its perfection. Bits of fiber bristled as if the cheese stuff was eating through the threads. “Actually, this may need to be destroyed.” He smiled slightly.

He had the most edible smile. The most kissable lips. The most tongue-able—I cleared my throat and looked away. “Nice save, by the way. You can really sing.”

“The pit helped. I don’t think the audience knew the Wicked Witch and I weren’t original actors.” He dipped more beer, wiped again.

“Sometimes the roles are played by men, so it wasn’t so far-fetched.” I relaxed as his slow, gentle strokes cleaned me. Warmed me. “You got the lines perfect.”

“I’d heard it often enough. The show must go on, right?”

When my gaze flew up in surprise, he smiled again, well-shaped lips and strong white teeth combining into an expression so gorgeous my eyes drooled.

I blinked it away. “Are you secretly a theater person?”

“I’m secretly a lot of things.”

I waited for him to expand on that, but he only kept rubbing my arm in that same sensual way, smiling that same smokin’ smile. I wondered what that smile would look like rising from between my…the warmth developed an uncomfortable edge. “Um, well, at least now we know the baddie isn’t Scarecrow. Not enough time to strip off the Witch costume and make his entrance.”

One black brow slashed up. “No, Jon Wise isn’t the idiot who took Lana’s costume, but he might be the brains and the Witch a confederate.” He stopped rubbing. “That actually makes more sense than that cock-up of a witch running things. He didn’t even know the lines.” Glynn’s tone turned distinctly offended, and I realized that, among other things, he was a true performer.

Bodyguard, singer, tracker, performer. What else?
Lover
, my breasts supplied.
Expert lover
, added my pussy with a purr.

Hellooo.
My brain waved for attention
. Off-topic here. Mystery-man to discover.

I’d like to discover his mysteries
, my mouth said
.

Oh yeah
, my sex chimed in.
Muscular, dark mysteries, thrusting mysteries, deep hard myst—

“Would you guys shut up?”

“I’m sorry?” Glynn said.

“Not you.”

“Hey, there you are. You guys ready to dip out?” Nixie breezed up, Julian in tow. Five-nuthin’ towing six-plus—like a toddler hauling a Great Dane. It was even more stunning because you knew the Dane was letting the child walk all over him out of love.

A far door swung open. LLAMA VP Mrs. Gruen traipsed from the kitchen with a long silver pan. Cheese balls came on plates so…
Noooo
. “Beyond ready. Just let me collect my instruments.”

“Already done. Twyla took your stuff back with mine to the household.”

“Our townhouses,” Julian clarified pointedly. “They took the instruments to the townhouses.”

Nixie bumped him playfully with her hip. “Nah, Junior caught the 4-1-1 herself.”

Glynn’s brows rose. “Does she ever speak English?”

Julian kissed the top of Nixie’s curly head. “Not any that you or I would recognize. One of the many things that keeps our marriage fresh.”

Mrs. Gruen catered in another pan. To my horror, she started shoveling up fluffy, bilious green goop. “Yeah, um, could we get going?” My voice squeaked.

“There’s danger?” Glynn scanned the room, only his slightly widened stance and big hands at the ready telling his immediate response to the perceived threat. Damn, he was good. He followed my gaze. “Pistachio fluff, a menace?”

“Did you say fluff?” Nixie shuddered, and Julian too, but they were MC natives. Well, in Julian’s case, naturalized. “You don’t want to be here if LLAMA starts serving the goo. It’s haunted alien slime, slurping everything in its path.” She latched on to Glynn’s leather sleeve and tried to make for the door.

Glynn stood like a rock. “Come now. Fluff is a staple at every church potluck west of Greenwich. How can it be dangerous?”

“This is LLAMA we’re talking about.” I grabbed his other sleeve. “Remember the cheese ball you wiped off my arm?”

Glynn’s wrinkled nose said he did.

“That’s just an appetizer for the fluff. You want to be here when it goes looking for the main course?” I pulled leather, urging him into motion.

This time, he came.

I mean
went along
. Came, as in he accompanied us.

Julian and Nixie owned a pair of four-family townhouses on Eighth and Walnut. The buildings faced each other, two letter Is typed on the dotted line of Walnut. A driveway used to separate them, but it had been seeded over and was now a shared front yard. The mouth of the driveway was still there, leading to underground parking. Julian had apparently remodeled extensively underground, which made a whole lot more sense now that I knew he was Sun-shy the Vampy Guy.

The rain had mostly cleared, so we walked. No masked men attacked us, probably because Julian and Glynn were in extra-growly mode. Though neither were openly fanged up. I think Glynn wasn’t because he didn’t know I knew about v-guys. Julian wasn’t because his neighbors were all nose.