The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire (21 page)

“That's a copy,” Ophelia said. “Council officials took possession of the actual stone more than fifty years ago to protect humans from it.”

Nola frowned. “Because anyone who owns it dies?”

“Common misconception. The diamond just makes the owner more susceptible to magical energy. And with its multiple owners and tragic history, Nik was under long enough for the witch to cast.”

“OK, so what do we do to break the curse? True love's kiss? Magic fleece? Killing the witch who cast the spell? Killing the vampire who hired the witch who cast the spell?” I asked, giving Ophelia the death glare.

“Killing the target fulfills the requirements of the curse,” Ophelia said. “And if that doesn't work, there's a sort of back-door solution for this kind of spell. An act of loving sacrifice from either party usually nullifies the magical agreement.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know. It's open for interpretation. I told you, I made a hasty decision to start this process. It's not like it came with an owner's manual!” she cried.

“So who is the Renart witch who cursed him? I'd like to talk to her. Or at least have Nola talk to her. Is it Margaret?” I asked. “It's Margaret, isn't it? She's awfully witchy.”

“The witch isn't important,” Ophelia said.

“The hell she isn't!” I yelled.

“She isn't! I can't tell you about her anyway. I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”

“There are magical nondisclosure agreements?” I asked.

“The spell is cast.” Nola shrugged. “There's no magical undo key, Gigi. We've talked about this. Our best option is to try to break it or fulfill it. Or you and Nik could separate. If he went to another continent, put enough distance between you, it might reduce the pull.”

“Blood magic is powerful.” Ophelia shook her head. “It will only get worse. If Nik doesn't complete his task, fulfill the curse, he will slowly go insane. He will lose bits of his memory, until he no longer remembers you or his past or even his own name.”

I refused to cry in front of Ophelia. That was the only thing that kept me from breaking down right there. This was a fairy tale from hell, complete with cursed princes and witches and insanity. What was I going to do? What would Cal do in this situation? What would Iris do?

I closed my eyes and listened to Ophelia chatter about Nik's slow descent into madness. Iris would find a solution. Iris would stop wallowing and figure it out. So that's what I would do. She would also find a way to get back at Ophelia, even if it cost her a limb.

“Why are you telling us all of this now, Ophelia?” Nola asked. “You've sat back and watched for months as Nik and Gigi struggled with this. Why come forward now?”

“It's the curse you put on whoever did Gigi harm. I've never felt so ill before.” Ophelia groaned. “Even when I was human, I've never felt such pain in my belly or tightness in my chest. My head is pounding, and everything aches. Even though I know it's not possible, I feel like I could die. Please remove whatever spell you've placed on me. I've told you everything you need to know. Or at least, everything I can tell you. That should count for something.”

Nola stared at her but said nothing.

“Well?” Ophelia cried.

Nola shrugged. “That's not how it works. You just have to suffer through it until the curse on Nik is broken, however that happens.”

Ophelia's face crumpled just a bit before she managed to get it back under control. “I understand.”

“Good luck with that, Ophelia. I'll see you tomorrow, dark and early,” I said, pushing up from my chair and striding from the room with my middle finger in the air.

Nola followed close on my heels. “Are we going to tell her there's no spell on her?” she asked quietly as we walked toward the elevator. “And that the symptoms are all in her head?”

I shook my head, pursing my lips. “Nope.”

12

Know the difference between an acceptable loss and a hemorrhage.

—The Office After Dark: A Guide to Maintaining a Safe, Productive Vampire Workplace

I
left Jamie to figure out what to do with his insane girlfriend. I didn't know whether telling her it was all in her head would make her feel any better, and frankly, I didn't care.

I did, however, file a complaint with Mr. Crown about Ophelia's behavior. And for once, he actually sounded cheerful, as if my report of Ophelia's trying to maim me and then refusing to name the witch responsible was the best news he'd heard in centuries.

Armed with information, I raced across town to tell Nik what I'd learned. The drive gave me much-needed time to think. What did Ophelia mean by a “loving sacrifice”? Did that mean one of us had to die? Did it mean we had to give something up, like a prized possession? It could be interpreted so many different ways, but I seriously hoped it didn't mean the death thing, because that would suck.

Surely we could find a way around it. I would deploy the full resources of the Jameson-Cheney-Calix Collective, and we would find some super-clever solution to this problem that didn't involve death or insanity. Now I just had to explain to Nik that my blood had been used to make him Ophelia's supernatural bitch. That was going to be an awkward conversation.

I pulled into the Victorian's driveway. Nik's car was there, but I saw that Jed's truck was gone, and the lights were out on their side of the house. I jogged across the lawn and was surprised to find the door unlocked.

“Nik!” I called, dropping my bag by the door and stepping out of my shoes. “I have news!”

Silence.

“Big curse news, Nik! This was not the reaction I was expecting!” I yelled, walking into the parlor, only to find Nik sprawled across his couch, fast asleep. “Aw.”

As cute as he was, all vulnerable and sleep-tousled, it was weird to see a vampire take a nap. In general, they didn't want to waste a minute of their evening, when they could be out being all badass and bite-y. Was Nik ill? Maybe switching back and forth between fugue states was draining his energy? Was there such a thing as Flintstones chewables for vampires?

I thought about waking him up, but the expression on his face was just so cute. He looked innocent and young, like a regular human boyfriend my parents would be downright tickled if I brought home. I couldn't bear to wake him. So I settled for retrieving my phone from my bag and taking some pictures, because I'm all class.

Iris was wrong. I'd watched her relationship closely enough that I knew what I would be giving up if I attempted a relationship with Nik. I could be losing the chance to have children, grow old, live a violence-free life. It was a chance I was willing to take.

With my brand-new screen background in place and my phone secured in my bag (where I could do no more damage to my reputation as a non-creep), I crawled onto the couch next to Nik and snuggled my head against his chest. “If you don't wake up, I'm going to take advantage of you while you sleep. Meaning I will take more pictures, only they will involve putting funny hats and fake mustaches on you.”

No response.

“Dude!” I exclaimed, laughing. “We're not supposed to get to the sleeping-through-date-night portion of our relationship for a couple of years.”

Still snoozing like a little vampire baby.

I threw my leg over his hips and straddled him, crossing my arms over his chest and resting my chin on my hands. “Niiiik. Wakey wakey! Or I'm going to go upstairs and start without you.”

Nothing.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned forward and kissed his mouth. Finally, he stirred, rolling his hips under mine and sliding his hands up my arms. I broke away, grinning down at him. “Hey, there, Sleeping Beauty.”

Nik's eyes opened, a hazy and faded blue.

Shit.

“Nik?” I whispered, as his lips pulled back in a snarl. “Damn it!” I yelled, springing back from the couch and over the coffee table. He jumped to his feet in a predatory crouch. I was trapped. I couldn't duck around him to get to the kitchen or the front door. And I couldn't exactly bolt for the window Bruce Willis style. Even if I did manage to get out of the house, I couldn't outrun him down the dark country road back to town. I had to have my keys, which were in my bag, by the door, which I couldn't get to. With my phone. And all my weapons.

This was the worst date night ever.

I sighed. “Damn it, Nik, I really don't want to have to do this again.”

Growling, he lunged at me, and I sidestepped around him. He looped his arm around my neck, dragging me backward. I dropped all of my weight and yanked down on his arm, turning him on my hip and throwing him to the floor. Unfortunately, he managed to grab me around the waist and drag me down with him.

“Ow, Nik!” I griped as he snapped at my neck. I grunted, shoving the bony edge of my forearm against his throat, keeping him outside biting distance. I wrapped my leg around his, thrust my hips up, and rolled us so I ended up straddling him.

“This is not how I wanted us to end up in this position,” I told him.

Nik struggled, but I was able to keep him pinned by some miracle of cursed vampire uncoordination. It gave me a precious few seconds to consider my next move. A loving sacrifice. Could that mean that instead of resisting him, I should submit to the attack? Let him bite me? Would he snap out of it before he drank too much? Would he hurt me beyond healing? His teeth looked so sharp, flashing even in the low light of his parlor.

Would my arm count? Would having Nik's teeth wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet be painful enough to be considered a sacrifice? I wiggled my arm up his neck and across his mouth, while keeping him pinned. But Nik resisted, working his chin around my wrist to snap up at me.

My arm wasn't sacrificial enough, it seemed. I took a few quick, deep breaths and leaned forward, my face screwed up as his bared fangs loomed closer and closer to my throat. Squealing, I closed the gap, pressing my neck against his mouth. He sat up, crushing me to his chest. His fangs sank deep, and the pain took my breath away. My fists beat blindly against his shoulders as I tried to jerk away, but Nik's arms had me trapped.

Of all the stupid things I'd ever done, this was by far the stupidest. But there was no turning back now. And if I started having regrets, maybe the magic wouldn't work, and I would have to do this all over again.

I would have to have a long talk with myself later about my subconscious's passive-aggressive death wish.

Nik's mouth worked at my neck, pulling my blood in huge mouthfuls that left me feeling cold and dizzy. I panicked, panting and blinking away hot tears, but I refused to think about how quickly I'd lost control of the situation or how close I could be to death. I focused my thoughts on my feelings for Nik, the love and affection I had for him, and how badly I wanted to help him. I pictured a life together free of fear, a real life that allowed us to be open with Cal and Iris.

And pretty soon that picture started to fade, because I was losing too much blood.

Struggling against him, I worked my arm free of his iron grip. I reached back to slap at him or jam my thumb into his eye, but a little voice in my head stopped me in mid-swing.
Trust
. I had to trust that he wouldn't drain me dry. This was the sacrifice.

I slumped against him, my arm falling slack to my side. I was so tired, too tired to keep my arm up. Hell, I was too tired to balance on my knees over Nik. My weight dropped bonelessly against him, and my knee fell forward, hitting him square in the crotch.

The pressure at my neck disappeared as Nik cried, “Oof!”

He flopped back against the couch, dragging me down with him. I landed face-first against his chest but managed to prop myself up on my elbows. It was amazing how
not
having your life's blood sucked from your jugular improved your upper-body strength.

“Ow,” Nik grumbled. His eyes slowly cleared, and he seemed completely confused about why I was on top of him. “Gigi? Who kicked me?”

“Now you come out of it?” I mumbled. “Now?”

“Why do I taste . . .” He paused to smack his lips. “You?” He glanced down at the wound on my neck, and if it was possible, he seemed to go even paler. “No, oh, no, what did I do, Gigi?”

“I let you bite me,” I told him, as he tore a strip off his shirt and pressed it against my neck wound. He stood, dragging me with him, sweeping me up. “I made a sacrifice . . .”

“Damn it, Gigi.” He grunted, sprinting to the kitchen and grabbing me a full-sugared Coke. “How much did I take?”

“I'd say I'm short a few pints,” I said, giggling weakly as he propped me up and held the soda can to my lips. “Do I get orange juice and a cookie?”

“That is not funny,” he told me sternly, carrying me out to his car.

“I disagree.”

“Keep pressure on it,” he said, placing his hand over mine as he pulled out of the driveway. “I am taking you to the hospital for a transfusion. And maybe some psychotherapy. Why the hell would you
let
me bite you?”

“I don't think I need the hospital,” I protested. “I just need some fluids. And a cookie. I let you bite me because I wanted to break the curse. Do you think it worked?”

“I am sure it did,” he assured me.

“Good,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the seat rest. “I need you whammy-free, so Cal and Iris will relax and let us date.”

“Whammy-free?”

I nodded. “I wanna walk through a parking lot unscathed, just once.”

“That sounds reasonable. Stay awake for me.”

“OK.”

•   •   •

I didn't stay awake.

I woke up in a cold, institutional room with an IV hooked up to my arm. I tried to move to my left side but realized I had to amend that to “arms.” One IV was pumping blood into my right arm, while another pumped saline into the left. And there was a little plate on my nightstand with a chocolate chip cookie.

Damn it, Nik had taken me to the hospital. Though, from what I remember, Half-Moon Hollow Hospital didn't have pale gray walls. The hospital rooms were painted light blue. And this smelled wrong. Rather than the strong scent of disinfectant, I smelled freshly brewed coffee and new carpet. It was an aroma I'd become used to over the last few months, the smell of the Council office.

This was bad.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Hello?” I yelled, sitting up in the bed and examining the IV port. “How the hell do I get this thing out of my arm?”

Mr. Crown walked in, and I actually recoiled in my bed, IV forgotten. He smirked and dropped an outdated copy of
People
onto my sheets.

“Miss Scanlon, erudite as always. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I feel uncomfortable with the fact that I've been unconscious within arm's reach of Ophelia.”

Mr. Crown's smile went frosty. “Ophelia has been relieved of her duties until an investigation into her actions is complete . . . or until she provides the name of the witch who cursed Mr. Dragomirov. For now, she is under house arrest. You do not have to worry about her ‘visiting' you. Mr. Dragomirov did the right thing bringing you here. I can't have one of my vampire investigators draining an intern, no matter how confused their sexual entanglement,” he said, a vague expression of annoyance crinkling the corners of his mouth. “It's unseemly.”

“Where is Nik?” I asked.

“Gigi?” I heard a voice call through the infirmary door.

“Tell me you didn't call Iris.”

“Gigi?” Iris burst through the door at vampire speed, stopping just short of toppling onto my hospital bed.

I groaned. “You called Iris.”

“Gigi!” she exclaimed, checking me over as if I was a newborn baby—fingers, toes, eyes, and nose. “Are you all right?”

“It's OK, Iris,” I croaked. “I'm fine.”

She took a deep breath and made a visible effort to lower her voice. “You're not fine, Gigi. I can't believe you
let
a vampire drain you. Have you learned
anything
from my life?”

“They've got me all topped off.”

“Don't you dare make jokes right now,” she said.

“Well, I'll leave you to your dramatics,” Mr. Crown said with a sigh. “When you get out of here, Miss Scanlon, you will have a lot of paperwork to complete.” And then he strolled from the room like an undead Tim Gunn.

“You need to calm down,” I told Iris. “You are verging on a Mom moment. Remember that time she came screaming up to the school in her bathrobe because the school secretary told her you'd tripped coming off the bus? And everybody saw her running across the lawn in her floral-printed nightgown, flapping in the breeze, and you stopped talking to her for three weeks?”