Here Comes the Vampire (11 page)

Okay, so while I had the whole eternal optimist thing going on, Killer not so much.

“Why do you have to be such a gloomy guss?”

First of all, what the hell is a gloomy guss? And second, its called being a realist. You should try it sometime.

I glared.

He purred.

And we both settled in for a long ride straight to hell, er, that is Connecticut.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

You can do this.

I told myself that as I pulled up in front of my parents’ massive estate in the upscale suburb of Fairfield and climbed out of the cab.

I’d lived with my parents well over four hundred years. I shouldn’t be so shaken up over a little trip home. A few nights in the interest of self-preservation. A week at the most. Just until I made it through all the surveillance footage.

It wasn’t like I was admitting failure and moving home for good. Back to plush surroundings and round-the-clock maid service and an unlimited American Express Gold Card.

Okay, so the last three wouldn’t be so bad. Except that they came with my mother. And her opinions. And her nagging. And—

Who was I kidding?

I couldn’t do this. I’d barely made it out once. Who knew if I would have the strength or the will to survive a second time?

Maybe I
was
better off taking my chances with Riley.

“You sure this is wh ^deswi I
wasere you want to go, Miss Lil?” The cab driver’s voice drew me back around. “I could take you to a motel until all the trouble passes.”

Hey, I’d been desperate to talk to someone besides a snotty cat. Not that I’d spilled the truth in vivid color, but I’d told Larry enough—minus vampires and Elvis and humping at the Mayan--to earn a sympathetic ear.

“I’ve got a spare couch if you want to stay with me. And a baseball bat,” he added. “No two-timing loser of an ex will bother you at my place.”

Forget a toned down version of the truth. I’d kinda, sorta told him I was being chased by a crazed ex-boyfriend and going home to my folks—no matter how stressful—was the only option.

”No, no.” I summoned my courage. “This will be good for me. My ex hates my parents so he’s sure to leave me alone here.” I smiled. “Thanks Larry.” I handed him a few twenties and an impassioned
It’s time to get over your last break-up and get back on the horse, buddy. Call me. I’ll hook you up and give you a discount just like I promised.

Not that I normally handed out discounts to any and every taxi driver who happened to pick me up. But Larry had needed his own shoulder to cry on and so we’d sort of bonded.

Twenty-eight year-old Lawrence Schmidt had been going to school in his spare time, working on a degree in secondary education because he wanted to become a gym teacher and work with underprivileged kids. But then his girlfriend—a money hungry bitch named Colleen—had dumped him for a pre-law major with family money and a really sweet Mercedes. Lawrence had been so upset that he’d quit school to watch reality TV in his free time and drown his misery in a nightly pint of Rocky Road.

That had been six months and fifteen pounds ago.

The poor thing. His pride had taken a nosedive and his ego was so far in the dumps that he didn’t think he would ever find another date.

Luckily my own ego was completely intact.

I could
so
hook him up.

I waved and watched Larry drive off before mounting the steps and heading for the front door. Killer snored softly from his travel bag. Three steps shy of the front door, I heard the noise behind me and every nerve in my body went on high alert.

Bracing myself, I whirled, ready to sling my pet carrier at Riley and make a run for it—

“Dad?”

“Sssshhh,” my dad, clad in black golf pants, a black polo shirt, a black bandana tied around his mouth, held up a hand. He motioned behind him to the massive lawn. “She might hear you.”

“Who?”

“Viola.”

Viola Hamilton aka the proud president of the Connecticut chapter of the Naked and Unashamed Nudist Sisterhood (NUNS for short). The group of female werewolves met weekly at Viola’s estate to dance naked under a starry sky and piss off my politically incorrect father who saw them as little more than cockroaches. He and Viola had fought over property lines and azalea bushes, and he’d even tried to blow her up last year because she’d cut down a few trees close to the east boundary—
his
trees, or so he and a local judge had said. A born vamp judge.

I’m just sayin’.

I know, I know. It seems extreme, but we’re talking vampires vs. werewolves. It was a fight as old as time itself. The front runner? That depended on who was asked at any given time. The vamps thought they were the superior race. The werewolves believed they were dominant. Me? I just tried to stay out of the line of fire and make a profit whenever possible.

I’d even made a nice little sum off of Viola last year when I’d hooked her and the other NUNS up with a bunch of fertile males just in time for the lunar eclipse, aka baby making time for all female wolves.

They’d procreated, I’d cashed the check, and bam, Viola and I had become instant friends. I’d even given her and the others a joint baby shower. The main course? Lots and lots of red meat.

“What did she do now?” I asked my dad.

“She and those other beasts have been running wild, pooping all over our property and ruining my precious grass.”

“Isn’t poop a fertilizer?”

My father’s face went from grim to murderous. “They’re
werewolves
,” he replied as if he’d just voiced the forbidden Kinkos (Moe’s biggest competitor). “Just a hint of werewolf excrement is sure to ruin the delicate balance of my pristine
vampere
grass. This stuff is straight from the old country. An ancient soil recipe handed down through the generations. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get it this lush? This green?”

I knew how hard our gardener, Jean Pierre, worked. My pops, on the other hand, spent most of his time admiring the lawn and telling Jean Pierre when and where to water.

“Viola knows I’m up for
Lawn of the Year
with the homeowner’s association,” my dad went on. “They just announced the finalists in last week’s newsletter. Why, I bet she was green with envy.” He wagged a finger. “Which explains why she’s trying to blow my chances. She wants to kill off as much of my beautiful Elymas and Festuca as possible so she can weasel in on my award.”

“Okay, I thought we were talking about grass.”

“Mine are ornamental grass types specifically geared for a cold season lawn. They can withstand temperature, but not a bunch of werewolf feces. Why, it’s sure to throw off the delicate mineral balance what with all that iron. Viola knows that and she’s trying to destroy my lawn on purpose.”

While I knew Viola liked to get under my dad’s skin, I still couldn’t picture her sneaking onto our property just to cop a squat in the yard.

To plant a few sticks of dynamite, maybe.

“Maybe it’s one of the neighborhood dogs,” I pointed out.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“I mean a real dog. Don’t the Smiths up the road have two St. Bernards?”

“No St. Bernhard did this.” He indicated the large plastic bag sitting near the edge of the front veranda, next to a concrete planter overflowing with fall annuals.

My nostrils flared and the stench hit me. I grimaced. “What about the Fredericks?” I tried again. “They’ve got Great Danes.”

“These piles are too big, even for a pair of Great Danes. It has to be those werewolves.” He held up his chainsaw and gave it a maniacal wave like Jason from a
Friday the 13
^th
flick. “But it stops tonight.”

“Does mom know you’re out here with a dangerous power tool?” While Jacqueline Marchette had no love for Viola or her kind, she knew my father tended to go overboard. Since she wasn’t in any hurry to have him doing fifty to life--particularly since life for a vamp was a very,
very
long time—she typically talked him down and defused any situation. “She’ll flip. You know that, right?”

He stiffened. “Your mother is at a Huntress meeting.”

“Since when do they meet on Sundays?”

“They don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s just a one-time thing since your mother decided to cancel
hunt
night.”

While humans had the traditional dinner where they gathered once a week to drive each other crazy, we Marchettes had the
hunt
.

Back in the old days—pre-Chanel—families had hunted together in packs. But since we born vamps had come into a new enlightened era and now did dinner in a much more civilized way—bottled gourmet—we no longer risked discovery ced n vamps haby going out and scouring the countryside for sustenance.

Even so, that didn’t mean we should let our survival instincts get soft. At least, as far as my dad was concerned. He felt it his duty to make sure that his children were fully capable of hunting should we find ourselves in a real world crisis where bottling factories fell off the face of the earth and chaos reigned supreme. And so he kept up the Sunday hunt tradition.

Only now we hunted each other—the
it
person. The prize? Extra vacation days from Moe’s which suited my brothers just fine. They hadn’t missed a hunt in ages. Since I wasn’t now nor had I ever been (at least not that I would admit) employed by Moe’s, I wasn’t nearly as revved about the weekly gathering.

Thankfully, my mother had cancelled this week because of the Vegas trip and my recent commitment to Remy.

“She’s so busy with the upcoming reception that she decided to call an emergency meeting. To get everyone in the club involved and lighten some of her workload.”

Or to brag.

Especially to brag.

“Not that I need her permission,” my dad went on. “This is
my
property and I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect the integrity of my lawn. If that means hiding out until I catch Viola in the act of desecrating my precious grass, then I’ll be here.”

My dad. Outside. All night. With a chainsaw.

I smiled. Riley and his stake didn’t stand a chance.

“You go for it, Dad. Show her who’s the HVIC.” That’s short for head vamp in charge.

He eyed the suitcase and a knowing smile spread across his face. “It’s about time you gave up all that dating nonsense and moved back home. Your mother was starting to wonder, but I knew it was just a matter of time. We’re Marchettes, dear. We simply can’t function without maid service and a cellar full of imported blood.”

“I haven’t given up my dating service. My apartment is being fumigated.”

“But you don’t breathe, dear.”

“I know that, but my landlord doesn’t. They’re kicking everyone out for a few days.” I shrugged. “I figured I could crash in my old room. Just for a few days,” I added when he got this gleam in his eye. “And I don’t need a job either since I already have one.”

“Of course you do. You’ll be raising my grandbabies in no time. Speaking of which, why aren’t you staying with Remy?”

“It’s bad luck to see the commitment mate before the ceremony.”

“We already had the ceremony. Saturday is just the reception.”

“Yes, but we’re re-committing beforehand so that the guests get to share in the joyful moment. I don’t want to jinx it by staying at Remy’s place.” Okay, now I was grasping at straws, but I was banking on the fact that my dad was so pre-occupied with Viola that he wouldn’t spare too much thought to the words coming out of my mouth.

“That’s nice.” His gaze scoured the lawn. “Time to get back on watch. Make yourself at home, dear.” He moved then, little more than a black blur as he zipped over to a large statue that sat near the corner of the house. He ducked behind and just like that, I was alone on the doorstep.

My brain stuck on the word
grandbabies
.

No. Not now. Not with Remy.

I held tight to the vow, shook off a rush of the heebie jeebies and walked into the massive house. I retrieved a bottle of my father’s favorite stash from the warmer in the kitchen and then headed upstairs to the small suite of rooms at the far end of the West wing.

The room was just the way I’d left it—Vera Bradley bedding, pale purple walls, white furniture, blinged out lamps. It was ultra feminine and a little immature for me n cturit—Verow, but I loved it anyway because it was the only room in the house that truly felt like home. Cozy. Warm. Human even.

Not that I had a hard-on for humans. I loved being a born
vampere
with all the perks—great hair, great bod, plenty of money. Okay, so that last one applied to other born
vamperes
who didn’t have a fledgling business and massive credit card debt, but you get the idea. Being a vamp totally rocked. Most of the time.

But there were those moments when I found myself thinking about what it would be like to watch the sun rise and feel the warmth on my skin and scarf down an entire box of Godiva chocolates.

I tamped down the crazy longing that whispered through me, sat the travel bag on the bed and opened it up so that Killer could waltz out and eye his surroundings.

“Cool, huh?”

Too many flowers
. He stuck up his nose.
Too much pink. And purple. And yellow. And, what the hell is up with all these frills? I feel emasculated just standing here.

“Not yet, but I’d be happy to find a pair of scissors and help you with that.” I gave him the Evil eye for a long moment before he slunk backwards and settled atop a plush pink pillow near the headboard. He gave me a look that said
You have to sleep sometimes and then it’s me and those shoes, baby, and it ain’t gonna be pretty,
and then he closed his eyes.

Just to be safe, I pulled off my stilettos and stashed them on the highest shelf in my closet before collapsing onto the pillows piled atop my king-sized bed.

I stared at the ceiling and mulled over the night’s events—from Ash’s desperate need for a victim, er, that is a virgin, to Mr. Fairweather and his dearly departed Adelia, to sick Evie and crazy Riley, to Killer’s threat against my fave pair of shoes. On top of that, there was the real disaster—Remy and my spiral down the Vegas drain.