The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire (2 page)

Also, by hiring human undergrads, they could employ us at a far lower pay grade than someone who could claim he had helped Charles Babbage perfect his idea of complex machines completing mathematical functions back in 1812. Two hundred years of work experience was a human resources nightmare.

When my coworkers and their wardrobes were no longer entertaining, my mind wandered to the mystery vampire I'd “met” over Christmas break. The “met” is in quotation marks because I hadn't actually introduced myself. Because, well, he hardly stood still long enough for me to see him, much less speak to him. At first, I thought he was a ghost. I'd barely been able to make out his facial features the first few times I saw him. And when Mr. Barely Visible finally became Fully Visible (and ho boy, was the visual nice), he'd surprised the ever-loving hell out of me by swooping in, kissing me like something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie, and then disappearing, literally.

That was one of the few things pre–Coming Out TV and movies got right about vampires. The undead were stealthy and sneaky and could pop in and out of view in the blink of an eye, which they usually did when a human was in mid-sentence, which, in my opinion, was super-rude.

The tragedy was that the hot mystery vampire had completely and cruelly dropped off the face of the earth after giving me the most world-altering kiss I'd ever experienced. It had been months since the Kiss, the meeting of mouths that rocked my world, shifted my paradigm, viva'd my revolution. And despite excessive lip-glossing for months, just in case I ran into him, I hadn't seen so much as a shadow. I was starting to think I'd imagined the whole thing, which would be completely plausible, considering my emotional turmoil over dumping my perfectly nice, all-too-human boyfriend, Ben.

I had too much bad vampire dating baggage to believe in magic and “meant to be” connections with the undead. There was no such thing as Love at First Bite. Passion, sure. Lust, sure. Strong feelings of impending nakedness, OK. But not love. Still, the kiss convinced me that I'd done the right thing in dumping that perfectly nice boyfriend. Because passion could be underrated. And if I was capable of feeling that much world-tilting passion for someone who might not exist, then clearly, my platonic, not-terribly-exciting relationship with Ben wasn't meeting my needs.

It was also possible that I was a deeply troubled hypocrite.

Up close, my vampire was center-of-the-solar-system hot. He looked like every hero in those Jane Austen movies that Iris's friends liked so much, golden hair that sort of curled around his face, eyes so light brown they appeared gold, high cheekbones, long straight nose, chiseled jawline, and a mouth that looked just smirky enough to say some really filthy things when persuaded. When I imagined meeting him again, he was always wearing a waistcoat and lounging around a stable full of fluffy, inviting piles of hay.

And that was a big part of why I didn't tell Iris about this, because that was the sort of thing for which she would mock me mercilessly.

Of course, I didn't know whether I would ever meet him again. Considering his five-month absence, I guessed not. Why had he even been in the Hollow? He seemed awfully “Continental” for Kentucky, though that really wasn't an indicator anymore, as our little burg seemed to be a magnet for vampires of all origins. Take Miranda Puckett's boyfriend, Collin, for example—tall, smooth, and British. I was pretty sure Collin
was
an extra in one of those Jane Austen movies Iris's friends liked so much.

Why had my vampire chosen me to pseudo-stalk? It would have been one thing if I'd only seen him the one time at the Christmas tree farm, but he seemed to follow me on several occasions. Had he known my schedule, or was he just that good at guessing where I'd show up? Maybe that was his special vampiric gift: he had a GPS. A Gigi Positioning System. (That sounded wrong but fun.)

Seeing my new (gray) office, the windowless workroom I would be sharing with my three teammates, made me feel as if I was right back in my “cozy” dorm room on campus. Four modular desks were stuck in four corners, abutted by four shelving units. I supposed the vampires considered it “private” since we would be working with our backs to one another.

Still, this was where the perks of working for vampires became stunningly clear: years of observing human weaknesses gave them enough information to know just how to lure us in. Each of our desks was flanked by a mini-fridge prestocked with sodas and juices we'd listed on our postinterview preference lists. A veritable buffet of geek fuel—Twizzlers, Doritos, ramen noodles, obscure gummy candy—would be refreshed “as needed.” Our work desktops were custom-built from the fastest processors and computers available—as in “available on planet Earth,” not available at our local Computer Barn. And each of our chairs represented the very latest in ergonomically supportive, butt-cradling comfort.

On the far wall, I spotted a console for the lavish Orange Door entertainment system, complete with digital jukebox touch board and four wireless headsets. We would be able to design personalized playlists from all of the songs available, well, anywhere and have them piped into our headphones while we worked—all of the mind fuel, none of the neighbor annoyance.

We had entered Nerdvana.

I noted that none of these little “gifts” from our employers would distract us from our work. We didn't get the Ping-Pong tables or kegerators of the early dot-com-boom legends. All of our perks were meant to fuel productivity through the night. I might have resented the overt manipulation, but I did love free music downloads, so I would take the benefits package without complaint.

The final touch, I supposed, was the enormous aquarium in the corner, filled with graceful, gliding tropical fish. Ms. Gibson explained that the fish tank was supposed to “accommodate the human need for color and light stimulation without the dangers of a window.” I didn't think she intended to make us sound like cats in need of a flashlight to chase, so I let it go. The tank was pretty soothing, after all.

Despite these very nice toys, we wouldn't yet be receiving the leases for our company cars or anything from the “grand prize showcase” detailing our clothing allowance, full benefits, and a salary that would keep me in sushi and extra memory drives for years to come. First, we had to pass a probationary period. It was pretty sensible, really, when you considered the driving record of the average college student. It would probably be
more
sensible to give us a much longer probationary period, but we were only going to be working with the Council for a few months before we headed back to school.

Of course, the probationary period was sort of twofold. Some of us would work freelance for the Council during the school year if we proved ourselves to be competent, trustworthy, and non-vampire-provoking. We would be able to keep the cars, the salaries, and the other perks and then slide right into full-time postgraduation employment. Sure, it would add some angst to my spring semester, but the dental plan would be worth it.

Beyond the perks, the job was a challenge. It was a huge mystery waiting to be unraveled, and (thanks to a mid-semester switch in majors to computer science) I was one of a very few people who had the skills to do the thread pulling. And once the search engine was established, there would be other opportunities to work on the vampires' secret projects. Who knew what I would see, what I could learn, where they would send me? This was the beginning of an exciting adult life in which I could establish myself as something besides Iris Scanlon's baby sister.

We were dismissed early, but barely so, after signing a mountain of releases, waivers, and nondisclosure agreements. Most of the paperwork involved agreeing that our estates didn't have the right to sue the Council, no matter what happened. We also signed a single document in which we had to check “yes” or “no” regarding whether we wanted to be turned should we be injured on the job beyond the treatment capabilities of modern medicine. I was surprised to be the only one who actually mulled over this signature. Aaron, Marty, and Jordan all immediately checked “yes.” Then again, I doubted whether those three had any actual vampires in their families. They'd never seen the postturning adjustment problems, the struggle with bloodthirst, the horrible burned-popcorn smell that lingered after vampires came into contact with sunlight. Most people thought it was all nighttime glamour and leather coats.

With a rather redundant warning not to discuss our nondisclosure agreement with our families, Amelia sent us home. At least, she sent Aaron, Marty, and Jordan home. She asked me to stay a few minutes because Ophelia had some papers she needed to send to Iris's business, Beeline. I stood outside Ophelia's office waiting for at least ten minutes, trying not to take it personally that I wasn't invited inside to wait or that when she finally handed the papers out to me, she just shoved an envelope through the doorway without actually showing her face.

“Thank you,” I said, as pleasantly as I could, as Ophelia snatched her hand back and slammed the door.

“Generous compensation and a clothing allowance,” I reminded myself as I walked out of the employee exit, rummaging around in my purse version of the Bag of Holding. “A 401(k) and a dental plan.”

My keys were, as usual, at the very bottom of my bag. The parking lot was empty, but at least the humans had designated parking right under the lone streetlight. It was the vampire version of handicapped parking. I would take time to be offended by that once I was safely ensconced in my locked car.

I glanced around the empty lot, once and then again, while my heels made a quick
clip-clop
across the pavement. Just as I passed an unoccupied SUV, two strong hands closed around my shoulders.

I froze. I couldn't move, time stopped, and all I could think was
I'm going to die. Iris is going to deserve such an “I told you so.”

My feet flopped uselessly two inches above the ground as he—at least, I thought it was a he—dragged me toward the SUV. Given the fact that I was a little more than six feet tall, the guy had to be huge.

Fighting back the initial panic, I hoped somewhere in the back of my mind that this was another one of Cal's tests. I had to stay calm. This was just like getting thrown around the mat by my instructor, Jason. I just had to assess what needed to be done and go through the steps. I threw an elbow back but missed his ribs as his grip on my arms tightened. I wrapped my leg around his, hoping to make it harder for him to walk if he planned to carry me off. I threw my head back, hoping to connect with the bridge of his nose. But I missed there, too.

My heart raced. There was no way this could be Cal. My brother-in-law would have cackled like a loon if he'd evaded a head butt. Which meant this was real. Crap. I
was
going to die.

“Please,” my assailant whispered, in a tone far gentler than one would expect from a guy who was attacking me in a parking lot. “You will stop now.”

Nope, definitely not Cal.

“I don't want to hurt you.” I relaxed only slightly against him as the calm thrum of that faintly accented voice settled in my chest. “Who are you?”

I whipped my head back toward him. “What?”

But instead of answering, he carefully turned me around to face him, setting my feet on the ground. And there he was, standing in front of me. Mr. Barely Visible. Mr. Probably Imaginary. Golden-brown eyes, high cheekbones, long straight nose, chiseled jawline, and a smirky mouth, the same features that had haunted me for the last five months. And I'd been right before: he was freaking huge, even taller than Cal, at least six-three or six-four.

“You!” I exclaimed.

The corner of that beautiful mouth lifted in a sort of mocking salute. “Me.”

My mouth dropped open, and I growled. “You.”

“Yes, me,” he said again, stepping closer and leaning in so his body pressed mine against the SUV. His golden hair reflected an icy sheen in the sickly blue streetlights. “And who are you?”

I should have hit him. I should have pulled my fist back and slugged him for following me, for the five months of uncertainty, for the current invasion of personal space. But I couldn't, because, well, Iris had always insisted that violence wasn't the way to solve interpersonal problems. And because he probably would have moved too quickly for me to hit him. And because he smelled really good—like amber and wood smoke—and his mouth was hovering a breath away from mine . . . and reasons.

I'm sure there were lots of reasons, but I couldn't remember any more of them, because his mouth closed over mine and pulled me into a kiss so magically freaking delicious that I forgot to breathe. The man actually stole my breath. I curled my fingers around his shirt, yanking him closer as my lips moved desperately against his soft, cool mouth. Eventually, the lack of oxygen made my knees sag. I might have dropped back, smacking my head against the SUV, but he caught me, cradling my head in his hands as if it was some fragile treasure.

He pulled away, staring down at me, the beginning of a grin blossoming under the bluish light. But the smile faded, and the warmth in those eyes gave way, as a glacial fog slid over his pupils. It was as if they had no color at all. His face went slack and emotionless as his hand wrapped around my chin.

“What's wrong?” I asked, but his grip tightened hard around my jaw. I thought I felt the bone buckle as he whipped me around, crushing my back against his chest. I pinched the panic button on my keyless remote. In the distance, I could hear my car alarm wail.

The heretofore silent primal part of my brain that was supposed to warn me when I was being sized up as prey started bleating,
Mistake! Mistake!
And I was reminded that the reason vampires were so mysterious and dangerous was that they were capable of serious violence.

My primal brain was pretty late to the game.