Undead and Unappreciated (16 page)

“You see? Now? Why not before? It's one of the things I complain about constantly.”

“Question asked, question answered.”

I let that pass. “Look, I know this is probably getting old, but I was kind of shoved into this whole consort thing. I don't know a lot about you; we don't have this deep, meaningful relationship.”

“To be fair, I think that's just as much your fault as his,” Laura said, munching on olives. When we both looked at her, she said, “I'm sorry. But that's the impression I got.”

“
Anyway.
A real-person wedding would—I would really love that.”

“But we are already married.” Sinclair seemed to be having trouble actually grasping my essential problem.

“But I don't feel it.”

“And a real”—the corners of his mouth turned down, as if he was contemplating a fresh dog turd instead of getting married—“wedding…would help you feel it?”

“Totally.”

Sinclair clasped my hands. “You are so immature,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes, “that you take my breath away.”

I jerked my hands out of his grip. “Aw, shaddup. And you don't even need to breathe. Yes or no, pal?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

I was shocked. “Really? Yes? You'll do it?”

“Of course. You had only to ask.”

“
I
had only to ask? See, this is part of the problem. You—”

“Elizabeth, darling. Shut up.” Then he kissed me again.

“Y
ou're getting married?” Marc's jaw was hanging down. We were sitting in the kitchen having hot chocolate and toast. Jessica was sitting on Marc's other side, and Tina and Sinclair were sitting on my right. I nearly sighed with the pleasure of it; things were finally getting back to normal. “A wedding? A vampire wedding?”

“You keep saying that; you sound like a crackpot parrot.”

“Better be a midnight ceremony,” he shot back.

“Yeah, I guess. That's okay. We could do like a roses in the garden midnight theme, with masses of red and white flowers everywhere…” Was that a shudder from Sinclair? He was studying the financial pages and didn't appear to be paying attention, but I knew damn well he was listening to every word. I narrowed my eyes and started to say something but was foiled by Tina.

“When is the date?”

“We haven't decided yet. I thought Easter, but that—uh, well, maybe next fall.”

“Autumn's good,” Jessica said. “We'll need time to plan.” That
was
a shudder! Before I could act, she went on. “But you're still going to live here, right? There's plenty of room.”

“Of course,” Sinclair said absently, turning a page. “This is our headquarters. I see no reason to leave. Though,” he added with a sly look, “you might forgo rent as a wedding gift.”

“Forget it.” Jessica eyed my shoe necklace and grinned. “Well, maybe for a month.”

“Can we get back to the death and betrayal and all that?” Marc broke in. He was so intent, he dropped his toast into his tea. Oh, wait. That was the way he ate it. Shudder. “So the workers at Scratch turned on you? And you
and
Miss Goody-goody killed them?”

“Don't call her that. And yeah, most of them,” I clarified. “Some of them got away while the getting was good.”

“They're like rats that way.” Jessica saw the look Tina was giving her and added defensively, “Come on. They jump her when they think they can get away with it, then get the hell gone when it goes bad. It's not the first time, that's for sure.

I
know
you're not getting all offended on behalf of all vampire kind.”

“No,” she admitted.

“Steps will be taken,” Sinclair said, still not looking up from the paper. What an irritating habit. I'd have to work on that after the wedding.

“Indeed,” Tina said. “With all respect, Majesty, I wish you would have said something when you left. You shouldn't have gone there alone. It's my place to take on danger.”

“Which one of them are you talking to?” Marc asked.

I giggled but sobered up when Eric clarified. “There wasn't time,” he said simply.

“How'd you even know to go there?” I asked. “I've been wondering about that for hours.”

Jessica coughed. “I might have given him an earful.”

“That's one way of putting it,” he said, looking wry. “I didn't rush there to save you. I rushed there to—” He looked around at the group. We were all hanging on his every word. But then, he had that kind of effect on people. “That is a…private matter…between Elizabeth and me. Needless to say, I was annoyed to find the queen in trouble yet again.”

“One more time, pal: Not. My. Fault.”

“You always. Say. That.”

“Well, maybe after the wedding the other vampires will respect you more.” Marc saw the frosty looks and added, “Well, they sure couldn't respect her
less
.”

Since I'd had that exact thought earlier, I was hardly in a position to bitch. About that. Instead I said, “I think what's the most amazing thing—”

“Besides planning to supervise an appetizer menu for people who don't eat,” Sinclair muttered.

“—is how remarkable Laura was. You guys. You wouldn't have believed it. She was slaughtering vampires left and right. It was the coolest!” When Sinclair and Tina traded a look, I clarified. “Bad vampires. It wouldn't have been as cool if she'd been killing nice, gentle orphan vampires.”

“With a sword made of light?” Tina asked.

“Uh, hellfire, I think. If we're getting technical. And sometimes it's a crossbow. And it appears and disappears whenever she wants it.”

“That makes sense,” Marc said. I couldn't tell if he was joking.

“But she's so nice,” Jessica said. “I haven't met her yet, but that's all you and Eric talk about, how nice she is.”

“Yes,” Tina said, “and that's interesting, isn't it? Is it an act, do you think?”

“No,” Sinclair and I said in unison.

“Hmmm.”

Sinclair put the paper down and picked up a pen and scribbled more of that language in the margin. At least it wasn't a hate note. I was pretty sure. I'd never noticed he wrote everything down in Latin or whatever it was. “I suggest we get to know her better, and not just because she is family.” He looked at me. “Will be family. After the wedding. The…wonderful, wonderful wedding.”

“I'm having supper with Laura tomorrow,” I said. “I figure I owe her a cocoa at the very least. I can ask her some stuff. But she seems kind of private.”

Marc snorted. “I'll bet.”

I
paused outside Sinclair's bedroom. The sun would be up soon, and just thinking about the night's events (not to mention living through them) made me tired. But now what? I'd told Sinclair the truth…told myself the truth. I knew he shared my feelings. We were engaged. We lived together. We were apparently in love. So did we share a bedroom? Did we wait until our wedding night?

My unholy lust for Sinclair's delicious bad self aside, I wanted to share a bed with him. I wanted to make up for using him earlier, and I wanted to hear his deep voice in the dark. And in my head.

On the other hand, after what I'd done to him earlier, what right did I have to expect us to literally kiss and make up? If our situations had been reversed, I'd have held a grudge for at least a year. Maybe I should give him time.

On the
other
other hand, he had come to Scratch specifically to…what? Regardless, he'd saved my ass yet again. Maybe it was silly to be all “you can have space, big guy.”

Oh boy, was I pooped. Screw it. I'd worry about it tomorrow night.

I turned away and plodded down the hall to my room. One thing—well, another thing—to worry about; I had the master bedroom, which in a place like this was really saying something. After we got married, Sinclair would probably want to share it with me. That could be a problem; he was as picky about his suits as I was about my shoes. There was room in my heart for Sinclair, but was there room in my closet?

I opened my door and gaped. Sinclair was in my bed, shirtless (at least!), blankets up to his waist, poring over all kind of dusty books. He looked up. “Oh, there you are. Ready for bed?”

I clutched the knob. Uh, the doorknob. “Don't you think this is a little presumptuous?”

“No.”

“I debated outside your door and decided to give you space!”

“How sweet. Please strip now.”

I snorted, torn between irritation, arousal, and plain old happiness. One thing about Eric Sinclair: he didn't dither. “Okay,” I said, shutting the door. “But don't think it will be this easy every night.”

“I'm counting on it, actually. Do you know, you're the only woman who has ever refused me?”

“No wonder you're such a pain.”

“Tina had the same theory,” he said thoughtfully. “But I dismissed it.”

I pulled my T-shirt over my head, struggled out of my jeans, then stripped off my bra and panties. I shoved a few smelly books out of the way, ignoring his wince, and wriggled under the covers.

“Sushi socks?” he asked.

“What is it with you and Japanese cuisine? You don't like my sushi jammies, you don't like my socks…”

He smirked. “It's possible they're hurting the mood.”

“Hey, it's chilly in here.”

“If I warm you up,” he said, pulling me against his chest, “will you take them off?”

“Done and done,” I said, and opened my mouth against his. His hands circled my rib cage and then moved up, and it was all very fine. Whatever had happened between us, this moment seemed exactly right.

I reached down and felt him beneath my hand, already hard, and had a second to wonder—How
did
vampires get it up? Then I forgot about it as his hands cupped my bottom and pulled me closer, so close you couldn't have slipped a piece of Saran Wrap between us. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to the hollow of my throat.

Oh Elizabeth, Elizabeth, at last, at last.

I nearly sighed with relief. I could hear him in my head again! I definitely wasn't evil anymore. Not that I had worried too much about it, but I
had
missed the intimacy of it.

“I love you,” I said.

Elizabeth, oh my Elizabeth.
His grip tightened, and after a long moment he murmured against my neck, “I love you, too. I've always loved you.”
Always. Always.

“You can bite me if you wa—” And then his teeth were in me, his tongue was pressed firmly against my throat, and we shuddered together. Only when Eric bit me did I feel like everything was wonderful. Only with Eric did I not mind being dead. In fact, being with Eric was the opposite of being dead.

“Oh, G—oh, thath good.”

He stopped drinking so he could laugh, and I leaned down and tickled his balls. “Don't thtart or I'll thing a hymn.”

“Anything but that, darling. You should practice more, get used to the scent.”

“I only like doing that with you,” I said, and he bit me again, on the other side.

And I you, you are sweet, you are like wine, you are…everything.

“Ummm…” I was shivering like I had a fever; God, I wanted him so much. “Come inside me now. I've waited long enough. Don't start about it being my own fault.”

He laughed again and eased into me; I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt him slide all the way home. And oh, it was sweet, it was like wine, it was everything. I licked his throat and bit him, yes, it was like wine.

“Elizabeth,” he groaned, thrusting hard. He grabbed my thighs, spread them apart for him, clamped down. Shoved, pushed, penetrated. And oh, it was good, it was so good.
Elizabeth, I love you, there's no one. No one.

“Oh, boy,” I gasped. That was it. That did it. I had thought my orgasm was way off, but it was just around the corner and when he said my name, when he
thought
my name, I could feel myself opening beneath his hands, his cock, his mouth, opening and coming, and it was more than fine, it was like coming home.

“Listen,” he said, and his voice—it was trembling. I was shocked, even in the depths of my pleasure…I'd never heard him sound like that before. “Elizabeth. Listen to me. Don't do that again. Run off like that. Scare me again. Do you promise?”

Well, I didn't exactly run off, I was just trying to take charge of things, and I certainly didn't set out to scare him, but—

“
Do you promise?”

“Yes, yes, I promise. I didn't mean to scare you.”

You are the only one who can scare me.
“All right,” he said, and his voice sounded normal again, thank goodness. He reached down and gently thumbed my clit, and this time when I shuddered, he did, too.

 

It took a long time for me to move, and I just sort of wriggled out from beneath him and flopped over like a fish. He groaned when I punched his shoulder to get him to give me a little room.

“Well, that was…” Orgasmic? Too obvious. Earth-shaking? Too clichéd. Fantastically amazingly wonderful? Too needy.

He picked up my hand and kissed the knuckles. “Sublime.”

“Ah!
Luh mot just
.”

He laughed. “Close enough.”

I hesitated. It was obvious to me, and had been from the beginning, that he didn't know I could pick up his thoughts when we were having sex (when I wasn't evil). And I had never been able to figure out a way to tell him. He was so controlled, so cool and calm, I didn't know how to say it without freaking him out or making him mad. Hell, I could hardly explain it to myself; I'd
never
been able to read minds before, and I couldn't read anyone else's.

But now was the time. Things had never been better between us, more comfortable, more natural. In fact, I had never been happier, felt more loved, so safe. I would tell him, and he wouldn't freak out, and everything would still be nice between us.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he said, and the sun slipped up in the sky—I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. I spun down and down into sleep.

And the moment passed.