Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (12 page)

"You've claimed me." He shrugged. "It's a mark of possession. Any vampire who knows where to look will see the mark. If we don't bind, the mark will fade."

"My kids. The same thing happened."

"That is different," said Patrick. "They're mortals. You've marked them and they will remain under your protection for as long as they live."

God, that cut at me in a way nothing else could. My babies. My sweet mortal babies. I chewed on my lip and tried to settle my thoughts. I really should've studied the files about vampires and the Consortium that were in my PDA. I knew how to turn on the little machine and tap buttons with the stylus. But I hadn't used it for much other than a paperweight.

"What you want to know is not in there," said Mr. Mind Reader.

"I would like to kill you," I said cheerfully. "You brought a creature into our town that sucked the blood out of eleven people and brutally killed Emily.
Shut up
. I'm not in the mood to debate Lorcan's mental state." I paced. My flip-flops crunched on the gravel-strewn rooftop. "Then you inform us that you and your pals have been planning to take over Broken Heart for a while. And now you're telling me that I'm your mate."

"All that is true." He looked at me. Do you know he had the
cajones
to look all cute and vulnerable and sorry? Goddamn it. I wanted to kick his ass.

"I can't deal with this," I said, my voice tight. I felt the press of tears behind my eyes, which was weird because I couldn't freaking cry, and a riot of emotions squeezed my insides. "It's just too much. Limit reached. Got it?"

"Yes." He looked as if he wanted to touch me, to comfort me.

I couldn't bear that restrained tenderness… so I rose into the air and flew away..

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I landed on my driveway next to the RV that still housed Damian and crew. I had yet to actually meet Damian, but maybe his ability to remain out of sight was part of his talents as a security specialist.

I trudged up the driveway, my thoughts weighing heavy. I was tired of thinking and of worrying. That's what I did all the time as a mother and I just wanted to cave in on myself. Sometimes, when I was alone, that's exactly what I did.

With the night stretching ahead of me and no other distractions, I thought I might clean out the basement.

It was filled with leftovers from life with Richard. After he moved out, I had vacillated between angry bursts of energetic cleaning and packing his shit and long sad bouts of curling up in bed and weeping. I managed okay with the kids. At least, I thought I had. It was hard on them to lose their full-time father.

They watched a man they once believed was devoted to his family turn his love and attention to a woman who was not their mother.

I had to give Rich some credit. He tried to maintain his relationship with Jenny and Bryan. And if I was honest, he tried to be more than civil with me. But how did a dad who used to come home every night and spend every weekend with them keep connected with children on a two day a week schedule?

They knew that Charlene's baby was their half brother. Richard and I argued a lot about that connection.

I still resented that he'd made a baby with Charlene. A baby who would never know his father. That thought stopped me cold. I stood at the concrete path that ribboned to the front porch, staring blindly at the recently trimmed hedges. Rich Junior would never know his daddy. Not ever. At least Jenny and Bryan had memories and pictures and keepsakes. How cruel and petty of me was it to deny that little boy the only other link he might have to his dead father?

Wasn't this a night for crappy revelations? I had to think about the situation. I caused the people in my life no amount of frustration because I was, as my mother said, "one who mulled too much." I liked to roll things around in my head before I made a decision.

I walked up the concrete path. My gaze traced the fancy scrollwork that looped the eaves. That porch, with its flower boxes and big white swing, was the reason I fell in love with the house. It was a Victorian two-story, one that had been lovingly cared for by the previous owner. Like most houses in the neighborhood, it was almost 100 years old. Most of the residents were from generations of people who lived and died in these homes. Most of us could trace back our roots to the town's beginnings. My ancestor Sean McCree had been one of the first farmers to sow wheat and slop hogs and eke out a living from theOklahoma soil.

Now, these houses were all sold to the Consortium and would soon be home to the first generations of who-knew-what.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Or about being one of the who-knew-what things that now resided in Broken Heart.

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Lingering on the steps, my hands still clutching the gorgeous, deadly swords, I thought about being a vampire. I didn't know a whole lot about my "condition." I hadn't really had time to figure out what I could or couldn't do. Hmm. The teeth thing… could I make that happen without being hungry? Yeah.

Figuring out how to extend those fangs would be an excellent way to scare mortals into doing my bidding. I chuckled at the idea of forcing some schmuck to do dishes and mop floors.

"Okay, fangs… activate!" I ran my tongue over my teeth. No go. "Uh… extendeth thy fangs noweth?"

Stillfangless. I thought about what it was like to chomp onSharon 's neck, the way her warm blood tasted of chocolate.
Oh… ecstasy, your name isSharon
.

I felt a rush of heat through me. I felt the slight splitting of my gums, the extension of the sharp incisors. I poked at the fangs with my tongue. Ouch. Those babies were sharp.

A gasp interrupted my experiment. I met the horrified gaze of my daughter, Jenny. Framed in the front door, her face pale and her eyes wide, she held Mr. Fluffykins in a tight grip. The tattered bunny only made the journey from her dresser to bed when she was having nightmares.

"Jenny," I said. "Are you okay, honey?"

She whirled around. The door thudded shut behind her.

Crap. Crap.
Crap
. I entered the house and hurried up the stairs. This isn't how I wanted to break the news to my children that I was not only dead, but that I was on a blood-only diet.

Jenny wasn't in her room. I didn't think she'd be in mine, either, but I checked. Nope. That left the Pit. I tossed the swords onto my bed and hurried out. As I approachedBryan 's closed bedroom door, I heard my daughter crying. It sounded like she stood next to me sobbing rather than ten feet away in a room with a closed door. It was easy to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Mom's not a monster," I heardBryan say. "She's grumpy sometimes—"

"Not like that!" cried Jenny. "She's a real monster. That's why we never get to see her. Those people have us locked up and will never let us go and will use our brains for experimentation and… and… they killed her and put a robot in her place."

I heardBryan sigh. "I thought you said she was a monster."

"She's a robot monster."

Okay, seriously. Jenny was not watching the Sci Fi Channel anymore. I paused. Then again, I was getting ready to admit that I was something far more frightening than a robot or the boogeyman.

I knocked on the door and opened it.

Jenny was sitting onBryan 's bed, her back to the wall, her knees drawn in a protective way, clutching Mr. Fluffykins in a death grip. She was dressed in her Powerpuff Girls nightgown. Her bare toes, recently painted blue, peeked out from under the hem.Bryan sat next to her, patting her knee, his sleepy expression a mixture of concern and annoyance. He looked up at me, obviously relieved that I had arrived to take his sister off his hands.

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"Sheesh, Mom. She's totally freaked out. Says you had red eyes and fangs and swords."

Crud. She'd seen the swords. I swiped my tongue across my upper teeth, relieved to note that my incisors had retracted. I glanced in the mirror above Bry's cluttered dresser. My eyes weren't glowing red, but they did look haggard.

"Jenny, baby. C'mere."

"No!" She scuttled closer to her brother.

Bryanlooked down at his sister in surprise, and then at me. "Stop being a butthead," he admonished Jenny, but without his usual rancor. His arm went around her and she huddled against him, her accusing gaze locked on to me.

Knowing that my baby was scared of me ripped me to shreds. I willed myself not to cry. Even without the ability to produce tears, giving in to the desire for a nice, dry cry would make the situation worse.

"I'm not a monster," I said, in a reassuring voice. "Or a robot." I smiled.

Jenny did not smile back. "You're not my mommy."

"Jenny!" She flinched at the censure in my tone.

Damn it. I tamped down on my temper. She was scared and lashing out. I was the adult here. I was the protector. "I have to tell you both something. Something very important."

"I want my mommy!" wailed Jenny.

Bryan's eyes were as round as plates. He absently rubbed his sister's shoulder. He looked confused and no longer sure that his sister was telling a tale. I noticed they'd both managed to squirm farther away from me. My heart rippled with pain. I was a vampire. I couldn't change that fact any more than I could change the color of the sun. An object I would never see again with my own eyes. God in heaven. What had I done?

Nothing. You had no choice. I gave you no choice. Tell them that, love. Tell your children I am the monster.

Patrick! For once, I wasn't irritated that he was in my mind. I felt comforted and strengthened and I realized that he was somehow infusing me with those feelings.
Do you really think I would tell my
babies this whole situation is your fault? The next time I see you, I'm slapping the shit out of you
.

He laughed. The low sound filled my head, a joyful echoing that made me feel better.
The next time you
see me, I will give your hands something more pleasant to do
.

A sensual thrill zipped up my spine.
You're so annoying
!

You have no idea. I felt his playfulness shift into a solemn tone.
Tell your
clann
that I am sorry about
what happened. I am sorry that they will be in pain and discomfort as they deal with their new
lives. Even so
, a thaisce,
I will never be sorry that you are mine
.

Hel-lo. Who says I'm yours?