The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires (17 page)

“Iris, can we talk about this?” he asked. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Go home, Paul.” I closed the door without another look at him.

“Wha—Iris! You call me if you need anythin’, you hear?” he shouted as the door swept his foot out of the way. Through the door, I heard him yell, “Hey, jackass, I’m calling tomorrow to make sure she’s OK. You hurt a hair on her head, and I’m calling the cops!”

I called, “That’s a little bit of an overreaction, Paul!”

“I don’t like the look of him, Iris!” Paul yelled back.

Cal turned toward the door, eyes narrowed. I had to hook my arm through his to keep him from grabbing for the doorknob. Weakened though he was, Cal still had all that vampire strength, so my shoulders took the brunt as Cal’s forward momentum drove me into the door. I shoved back, hooking my foot around his calf and throwing my weight against him. My hands shot to his shoulders to keep my balance, but my other foot slipped, and I ended up wrapping the other leg around his waist to keep from falling on my butt.

I heard Paul’s truck spin out on the gravel of my driveway, the Southern male equivalent of flouncing away. Struggling between his desire to get through the door
and my climbing him like a particularly fetching tree, Cal snapped the knob from the door. He pulled it loose and stared at it incredulously.

For some reason, the sight of my big, bad vampire boarder standing in my foyer staring at my broken doorknob like it was an artifact from some alien civilization struck me as really funny. I roared with laughter, bending at the waist until my head thunked against Cal’s collarbone. I laughed until big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks. As I shook and keened, I became acutely aware of my legs wrapped around his hips, my weight centered over his zipper. And the more I squirmed around, the more that zipper bulged under me. I watched my tears make a watery trail down Cal’s collarbone, down his white skin, and onto my pajama pants. Tense little lines formed around Cal’s mouth as he tried to shift me away from his, er, growing problem.

Desperate to quell the silly, girlie giggle that threatened to bubble up from my chest, I pressed my lips together and pinned them with my teeth. Cal was starting to look uncomfortable … and tired. Even a man with superstrength couldn’t support my weight for any amount of time.

“Kill me now,” I grumbled. I felt Cal’s head duck closer to my throat. I shoved away, whacking my head against the door. I exclaimed, “Poor choice of words! I don’t have an actual death wish.”

“Well,” he quipped. “I can certainly see why you’re so attracted to him. It must be so convenient to have a companion you can stow away in your handbag.”

I groaned, swiping my hands over my eyes. “Why did you do that?”

Cal frowned, glancing down. “Well, you’re not an
unattractive
woman. It’s a natural reaction even for the undead.”

I burst out laughing. “No, not your, er, problem. Why did you come out here and act like we—like you’re my—why did you make Paul think we were together?”

He glowered at me, but there was no real heat in it. “Did you think I would just stand aside and let you go upstairs for … what did Gigi call it, a booty call?”

I poked his chest, his skin cool and silky against my fingertip. “First, I wouldn’t have done that with you in the house. And second, if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business. My personal life is personal. This is a business arrangement, not a friendship.”

Cal frowned at this, his eyes scanning my face for a long moment before saying, “I didn’t like the way he talked to you. His attitude toward you, it’s condescending, disrespectful.”

“You talk to me with condescension and disrespect all the time,” I retorted.

“It’s different when I do it. You know I don’t really mean it.”

“No, actually, I don’t know that!” I exclaimed. “You’re all over the place. You sneer at me, but you kiss me. You have no attachment to me, and then you’re concerned about my well-being. It’s very confusing!”

Cal tilted his head, shifting me so that his hands cupped my cotton-covered ass. He gave me a jiggle, his
tone teasing. “Oh, come now, are you really that upset? Gigi said your relationship was over a long time ago.”

“I do not like being used for your amusement,” I spat. “And don’t pretend you were doing it out of some urge to stick up for me or protect yourself. What happened to keeping a low profile? Not letting anyone know you’re here?”

“Does your Lilliputian ex-paramour have any contacts in the vampire world?” he asked.

I threw up my hands, which caused the support I held against his shoulders to disappear. He adjusted, pushing me against the door. I could feel the warmth pooling between my thighs as I slid down his length. My breath caught, and I braced my hands against his arms. I cleared my throat, searching for a steady voice. “Again with the short jokes.”

“Does he?”

I sighed. “No, Paul doesn’t have anything to do with vampires. He didn’t like that I worked with vampires. He was always worried that I would get hurt. By the way, slumping your shoulders and adopting a hick accent does not amount to a ‘human impersonation.’”

“It’s worked before.”

“It’s insulting.”

Cal pursed his lip, his eyes twinkling. “Are you sure you’re not upset because I made Paul think you’re unavailable?”

I jabbed my finger into his bare chest. “You know, I was completely happy before you showed up. My life
wasn’t much, but it was mine. And when I’m no longer useful to you, you’re going to leave. And you’ll forget that I even existed.”

This would have been a really good time to walk away. But it’s really difficult to storm off when you’re straddling someone.

I tried to wriggle my way to my feet, but Cal held me fast against the door. He leaned closer, and I shied away. His mouth closed over mine, taking the air from my lungs. He pinned me to the door with his hips, and his hands slid up to my face. His rough, cool palms cradled my cheeks.

He tilted his forehead against mine. “That’s what you think?”

Before I could answer, his tongue glided easily over my lips, teasing them open. His mouth was cool and surprisingly fresh, although there was a subtle undertone of copper in his kiss. My knees sagged at the soft, insistent pressure that pulled my tongue past his lips. His hands slipped into my hair, pulling my face higher and closer to his as he pressed me back against the wall. Biting gently on my bottom lip, he nipped and nuzzled down the line of my chin to my ear.

I’d never kissed a vampire before. The lips were firmer and cooler, and the absence of breath against my skin was odd. I worried that I was too human, too weak, too plain. But soon even that thought evaporated into the ether, and every cell in my body fired for the sake of keeping me upright and attached to Cal’s mouth.

The slide of cool flesh against mine and the rasp of teeth against my lip were soft and affectionate. He was coaxing a response from me, teasing me into relaxing against him. He pressed a kiss to my chin. His hand slid under my shirt and over my ribs, up to cup the weight of my breast in his palm.

I was trying to figure out how to reach for his zipper in this position when I heard an exaggerated throat clearing behind me, from the kitchen door.

“So, are we still claiming that we’re just business acquaintances?”

Vampires are wily, seductive creatures. Even if you think you are resistant to their charms, you are most likely thirty seconds from losing valuable undergarments.

—
The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires

C
al turned, with me still attached to him like a human barnacle, to find my sister leaning against the frame of the kitchen door, struggling to hide the look of smug triumph on her face.

“At least this time the hair is deserved,” Gigi said, gesturing at the tumbled mess on top of my head.

Cal snapped out of his lustful haze and set me on my feet. He carefully adjusted his jeans and fastened the top button. Vampires were incapable of blushing, but if Cal had had the blood flow necessary to tint his pale cheeks, he would have been roughly the color of a fire hydrant. He kept his back to Gigi and seemed unsure of how to stand. Taking pity on him, I stepped around him and stood as a sort of human shield against upsetting man-nipple exposure.

“Aren’t you early?” I asked.

“Well, where’s the fun in showing up when you’re supposed to?” she asked. “You don’t see nearly as much. By the way, was that Paul’s truck I saw pulling out of the driveway?”

“Gladiola.”

She blanched at the use of her proper name. “Sammi Jo’s grandmother dropped by for a surprise weeklong visit at dinnertime. I had to get out.”

I gave her a sympathetic little smile. “The one who tried to baptize you with bottled water?”

“Is that common practice now?” Cal asked quietly.

Gigi heaved a dramatic sigh and stretched across the couch. “Grandma McCuen says I’m a bad influence on Sammi Jo because we don’t go to church regularly.”

“Well, Grandma McCuen is a closet drinker who lost her car title at the bingo hall. I wouldn’t worry too much about her opinion.”

Gigi snickered and nudged me with her hip.

“This is Cal, by the way,” I said, pointing over my shoulder. “I’m not sure whether you were properly introduced last time.”

Cal nodded stiffly. “Teenager.”

Gigi gave him a mocking little salute. “Shirtless wonder.”

And there we went with the vampire nonblushing again. I would have corrected my sister, but frankly, if she was teasing Cal, she wasn’t teasing me. It was like having a human—well, vampire—shield against adolescent disdain.

“So, you’re a vampire. What’s that like?” Gigi asked, ignoring Cal’s indignant glare.

He parted his lips, his fangs dropping dramatically. “Like being a human, only better and for much longer.”

Gigi laughed, despite the dental display. And I couldn’t help but marvel at her ease with the walking national treasure of Greece. Why was it that my sister cowered when confronted by long division, but bared vampire teeth fazed her not one bit? I supposed that next to SATs, classroom queen bees, and constantly evolving body parts, the undead probably weren’t all that intimidating.

Apparently finished with risking suicide by sarcasm, Gigi turned on me. “I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved.”

“Dinner at Sammi Jo’s was sort of skimpy. Grandma McCuen believes that girls should be served half as much as boys at mealtimes because boys ‘work so hard.’ ” Gigi rolled her eyes.

“Don’t Sammi Jo’s older brothers stay home all day playing Xbox and smoking weed?”

“Apparently, it’s very hard work.” She made doe eyes at me and fluttered her lashes. “Elvis pancakes?”

I pursed my lips, surprised that Gigi was willing to bend her stance on sweets. It must have been a very stressful week at Sammi Jo’s. “I thought Elvis pancakes were verboten after the Great Carb Embargo.”

She put her arm around my shoulders, nudging my hip again as she jutted her chin toward Cal. “Well, I thought you didn’t bring work home with you. Rules were made to be broken.”

—

I didn’t know how Gigi did it, but somehow she managed to get Cal to (a) put a shirt on and (b) join us in the kitchen while I cooked a completely unhealthy late-night snack. He tried to leave several times. His feet were pointed out the door and in motion, but she was just so damn sweet, asking detailed questions about how to heat a packet of donor blood and offering to put it in a fancy wine glass for him, that he couldn’t find a way to back out of the room without feeling like he was kicking an adorable adolescent puppy. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wake up in the morning to find that she’d painted his toenails sparkly pink.

Scooting closer to me so that he could put distance between himself and my sister, Cal asked, “So, what separates Elvis pancakes from all other inferior pancakes?”

“Peanut butter and bananas,” I told him as I mixed Bisquick with milk.

He grimaced as I mashed two bananas and creamed them with the batter. “That doesn’t sound terribly healthy.”

“Hey, I used to prep the griddle with bacon grease until Gigi started counting calories.” I chuckled, stirring peanut butter ice-cream topping into the batter just before pouring three small pancakes onto the griddle. She frowned at me, reminding me that we’d agreed not to discuss her frantic “I can’t button my jeans!” episode.

I snickered and blew her a raspberry kiss as I flipped the pancakes. “She also makes me use
light
syrup.”

Cal took a sip of the blood. I plated the pancakes and slid them across the counter. He blanched at the sight of the dripping flapjacks. “How does one stumble onto this treasured family recipe?”

I watched as my sister dolloped knobs of butter onto each flapjack, then drizzled lacy loops of syrup over her handiwork. Sliced bananas and more ice-cream topping followed as a final touch. “Gigi’s school had a dessert fundraiser a few years ago. And Gigi insisted that we try to make banana pudding for two hundred people. It was hell—sticky, messy, banana-flavored hell. We ended up with half a mashed banana stuck to the ceiling and about ten bunches of leftover bananas. We made banana bread, banana pancakes, banana milkshakes. Anything to get rid of the bananas. I thought that adding peanut butter to the pancake batter would make it even better, because, well, I was flipping sick of banana. And thus, Elvis pancakes were born.”