Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (19 page)

I didn't know how to feel.

I found myself in the same mire of emotions I'd felt since I got Turned—overwhelmed, scared, worried… and interwoven into the mix…
horny
. I wanted to lick and touch and kiss Patrick. I wanted to slide over him and take him and bring him to the edge. I wanted to be naked with him. I wanted to find his favorite spots and show him mine. Where were his sensitive areas? Behind the knee? Yeah, that's where I should flick my tongue, maybe a nip up his thigh, I'd love to coast down between his legs, wrap my lips around his big—

Jessica. God in heaven, stop.

I grinned.
What's wrong? Getting too hot for you
?

You have a skill in torture that rivals a Spanish inquisitor's. You know that I will not break our connection again. Even if that means being tormented by your impure thoughts.

If having sex with you didn't mean a hundred years of marriage, I would happily spend the night with you.

There are ways to pleasure each other without consummation. But to taste you, to know you… it isn't enough, love. If you cannot bring yourself to commit to the binding, we cannot bed together.

Fine. Leave me alone, okay? You can stay out of my head since you're a foot away from me. I want to see if I connect with Lorcan.

As you wish.

I blinked. Did he know that phrase was from
The Princess Bride
? Nah.

I watched the twins scope out the area in a strange, precise tandem that was almost militaristic. It didn't take much to figure out that their senses were more attuned to sounds and sights and smells. Vampires had extraordinary sensory skills, but the way Drake and Darrius behaved made me believe that they were in sync with nature. Drake and Darrius found an old walking path and stayed about three feet ahead of me. Patrick trailed behind, alert, his footsteps eerily silent. Me, I stomped forward with all the skill and grace of a lumbering bear. Nothing for it but to see if Lorcan would pick up the mental phone.

Hey, Lorcan! Nobody wants to kill you anymore. We know there's another lycanthrope. Just c'mon out so we can experiment on you and find a cure for the disease.

You sure know how to tempt a man. Or a beast, a droll voice whispered through my mind.

Lorcan! Hoo-wee!

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Don't get excited, Jessica. I'm not revealing my location to you. It's not safe for me to be near anyone.

Oh shut up. This isn't about you, it's about me. I have to show up your tight-assed brother.

Laughter echoed in my head.
I see why he likes you
.

Yeah, he really enjoys how prim and proper I am. Why can I talk to you? You didn't Turn me.

No. I murdered you.

Don't worry. I'm over it.

Another chuckle rippled. Then I felt the ache of his regret, the cold horror of what he'd done. Shit. I was losing him. He was going to hang up on me.

Look, we gotta find a cure. You're the key. Whatever they did to you stopped the disease.

And turned me into Cousin It. I don't think most vampires would appreciate the side effects.

We can't fix the problem or you unless you meet with us. C'mon, Lor. I won't let anyone hurt you.

My hero. Okay, bean-shithe,
I will meet with you and Patrick, but no others. No one can know
about it. Agreed
?

Damn straight I agree. When and where?

The hour before dawn at Putt 'Er There.

We'll be there. And Lor?

Yes?

A girl really hates to be stood up.

His amusement swirled in my mind, then he was gone. I stopped walking and looked at Patrick. "It's time to go home."

"You talked to him?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't hear a whisper. I've always been able to connect with him."

"Maybe it has something to do with the physical changes he's gone through," I said, putting my hand on Patrick's arm. I hated that he was so distressed about his brother. "Maybe it's messed up his brainwaves or something. His channels got flipped."

Something close to humor glittered in Patrick's gaze as he looked at me. "You mean he tuned into you?"

"Yeah. The weird woman network. He's entered my own personal episode of
The Twilight Zone
.

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Lucky him."

Patrick brushed his knuckles along my jaw. "No,
céadsearc
, lucky me."

When I entered the house, I heard the delightful sounds of Bryan and Jenny fighting over the TV's remote control. For a second, it was so normal, so like my old life, I felt as if time had shifted backward and dumped me on my ass. Then Patrick's fingertips grazed my elbow and I jolted into the present moment.

"I'll meet you upstairs," he said. Then he actually walked up the carpeted stairwell like a normal person instead of turning into mist or a bat.

I can't turn into a bat.

So you say.

I knew Patrick was ducking out of a familial moment. There was a wall between him and my children, one that he erected. I understood why. That kind of pain… well, I guess "time heals all wounds" just wasn't the case for a father who'd lost his children.

But there was no me without Bryan and Jenny. And Patrick's reluctance to even sit in the same room with us all meant… what? Could Patrick be a dad again?

Brigid glided from the living room into the foyer. "Are you well?" she asked.

"I'm peaches and cream," I said. "Those two been at it long?"

"No." She laughed and the sound was the peal of church bells on Sunday morning. "Any luck finding Lor?"

"Uh… sorta."

Her green eyes sparked with curiosity, but I knew she wouldn't nag me about the vague reply.

I cleared my throat and met her gaze. "Thank you, Brigid. I know I was dead. I mean, for real, and you saved me. And I know you're a special kind of… uh, person."

"I am not a vampire, you mean," said Brigid. "And you wonder what I am."

"Yeah."

"I am
sidhe
," she said proudly. "And Padraig is my grandson."

"What? You're his…
what
?"

"Grandmother," said Brigid, amused at my reaction. "You read the story, did you not? The one Lor left for you?"

"He put the book on the coffee table?"

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She nodded. "Lor likes to write down the legends, prophecies, myths, and other stories. He has hundreds of those volumes… and that doesn't include what he's managed to type into a computer."

My mouth dropped open. "You're the Brigid from the legend?"

The screeches of my still arguing children rose in urgency and tone. Brigid smiled her enigmatic smile and rested her palm against my cheek. "You must not give up on him, Jessica. He didn't give up on you. If there is anyone to thank for your life… it is Padraig."

"I know that." I sounded sullen. I rubbed a hand over my face as if I could wipe away my glowering.

"God, I'm so bitchy. I owe a number of people for saving my butt. I won't forget."

"Good." As she sparkled out of sight, she waved her hand in farewell.

I headed into the living room and witnessed a remote-control tug-of-war between my kids.Bryan managed to yank it out of Jenny's grasp. She put her hands on her hips and stomped her bare foot.

"Just because you're older, doesn't mean you can boss me around," wailed Jenny. "I'm going to tell Mom that you're being a butthead."

"I'm not watching the Bratz movie," retortedBryan . "You've seen it like, a billion times, and it's stupid.

You're
stupid."

"I'm not stupid. I get A's. You get F-minuses plus infinity."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Make me."

"Oh make yourself! Give me that remote,Bryan !"

My son, an expert in torturing his younger sibling, held up the remote and invited his sister to "go on and take it."

"How about
I
take it?"

"Mom!" they chorused.

"Bryan's being a jerkazoid rex," announced Jenny. "We watched
The Matrix
and now it's my turn to
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pick a movie."

"She wants to watch some dumb Bratz movie. I hate Bratz."

I silently agreed with him. I wasn't fond of those apple-cheeked, pillow-lipped, bug-eyed dolls, but I respected Jenny's right to like them. Okay. Respect was probably the wrong word. I tolerated her obsession with the creepy plastic fashionistas.

Jenny jumped like a frenziedChihuahua as she tried to grab the remote from the hand of her smirking brother.

"How many televisions do we have in this house?" I asked. Who-gets-the-remote-control was an old, ongoing argument. It didn't seem to matter that Jenny andBryan both had TVs with digital cable in their bedrooms; they were forever battling for territory and privileges in the living room.

"I know, Mom. We have four TVs," saidBryan . "But we wanted to sit on the new couch."

"The new couch?"

"Yeah," said Jenny, momentarily distracted from trying to best her brother. "It's
way
better."

I had been focused on the kids and the Remote War, but considering the size of the new couch and the obvious rearrangement of the living room to accommodate the piece, it wasn't exactly hard to miss.

"It's got a
chaise
," said my daughter primly. One end of the red behemoth was a long rectangle—a suitable space for Cleopatra or a nine-year-old who enjoyed feeling like a princess.

"What happened to the old one?" askedBryan .

"Bigfoot ate it," I said. "Give me the remote, Bry."

He tossed the remote to me as if it was the football and I was the quarterback. I caught it, but he got the Look for A. throwing it and B. throwing it in the house. He plopped onto the couch, his socked feet stretched out just close enough to Jenny to annoy her.

"Get your stinky feet away from me!" she cried, crinkling her nose in disgust and scooting into the corner of her chaise as ifBryan 's toes had turned into snakes. "Moooom! His feet smell like lima beans."

Jenny hated lima beans so she equated anything disgusting to the offensive vegetable. And who could blame her? I'd always thoughtBryan 's feet smelled like lima beans, too.

"Can you two cool it for a minute?" Nausea crowded my throat as I looked at the couch and thought about why the old one had to be replaced. God. Oh God. I knew that Patrick had made sure the couch soaked with my blood had been taken away and replaced with something better. He had taken care of cleaning the downstairs and getting rid of the evidence of the attack. My babies didn't have to wonder why things were trashed or have to be afraid for me.

Patrick.

Who won the remote?

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I
did
.

His laugh caressed my mind.

Um… Patrick? Thank you. I didn't think about what happened to the room… the house… you took care of it. Of my kids. Of me. Thank you.