Undead and Unappreciated (7 page)

I
bumped into Marc on the way to my room to get shoes and car keys. He was scruffy (it was amazing how someone with such brutally short hair constantly looked like he needed a comb) and his scrubs were a mess.

“Why are you here?” I asked him.

“I'm pulling a double tomorrow, so Dr. Abrams let me knock off early.” He peered at me. “You've got blood on your—”

“No,” I said, “I mean, why are you
here?
Sucking off me like a big leech? You've only got your father, he's
sick,
but instead of tending to
your
business you're hanging around here butting into
my
business, paying—what?—two hundred bucks a month to live in a mansion? You hate your job, you hate your life, you haven't had a
date
in all the time I've known you, never mind a relationship, and the only way you can feel like you're worth anything is to tag along on vampire errands. Pathetic, Dr. Spangler. Really really lame.”

He was gaping at me, which was pretty funny. Finally he said, “I don't hate my job.”

Good comeback…not! “Move, Dr. Leech,” I said, and shoved past him. Lucky for him I was full. I made a mental note to throw his ass out tomorrow, after he'd had a day to mull over each and every truthful observation I'd made. Maybe he and Jessica would get together and cry on each other's shoulders. That could be funny.

I got to my room and kicked my Manolos out of the way. Ridiculous! Teetery high heels—when would I wear lavender pumps? I'd thought to wear them when I married Andrea and Daniel, but not only were they totally stupid shoes to wear in my position, I sure as shit wasn't going to let a vampire marry her sheep. They were food, not partners. What had I been thinking when I congratulated them?
Congratulated?

I decided to take it easy on myself. Okay, I hadn't been thinking, in fact, I'd been running from my destiny. I hadn't figured it out then, but I had a handle on it now. It was the difference between being a young vampire and a queen.

I opened my closet door and pawed through the orderly piles of shoes. Yellow leather sandals—idiotic. Red knee-high boots—gaudy. Roger Vivier evening pumps beaded with turquoises. Turquoise! I hated turquoise, but I'd dropped almost a thousand bucks on a shoe decorated with that ridiculous rock. Fontenau heels in piss yellow…which I could only wear with black. Manolo Blahnik pumps in basic black…I could have gotten black pumps at Wal-Mart for twenty bucks!

Marabou mules. Emma Hope slippers. Japanese smiley face slippers—
smiley faces!
Leather golf cleats in tan and white…I didn't play golf. Cowboy boots…I didn't have a horse! I didn't even like to go out to the garden.

What was wrong with me? I'd pissed away thousands of dollars on stuff that went on my
feet
. My money problems would have been solved ages ago if I'd just stuck with flip-flops.

I finally found a pair of old green rubber boots I wouldn't be annoyed to be seen in and tugged them on, then clomped out the door in search of my purse. The mansion was worthy of my station, but it always took a while to get organized and out the door. Maybe I'd have elevators installed. And those concave mirrors they had in convenience stores. It would be nice to see who was coming down the hall.

Speaking of surprises, I rounded yet another corner and there was His Majesty King Sinclair coming toward me.

He was impeccably dressed in trademark temperate colors: dark slacks, black belt, black shirt, black wool greatcoat. The dark clothes made even his eyes seem black, like a starless night in the middle of winter; I couldn't tell where the irises stopped and the pupils began.

There was some color in his cheeks—not a chill from being outside like you'd expect from a regular guy, but because he'd recently fed. I wondered who he'd bitten. Normally I tried not to think about it, but since he'd ditched the harem (in a needy attempt to get on my good side) he had to be hard up for blood.

Maybe he pounced on muggers and rapists, like I did. Of course, due to recent eye-opening events, I was a little more broad-minded now about the quality of victims. Really, if they were on the street, they were fair game. It's not like they died from it or anything. Well, they might now. But I had other things to worry about.

“You're looking yummy,” I said, reaching out as he neared and stroking the lapel of his coat. “As usual.”

“So are…you…” he replied slowly, stopping in mid-stride and giving me a closer look. “You smell like blood. You've spilled some on your shirt.”

“Silly me.”

“And are those rubber boots?”

I edged closer. “Don't you think there are more interesting things for us to talk about than footgear?”

His gorgeous brow wrinkled. “Er…well, yes, frankly, but—”

I pulled him close and kissed him on the mouth. His firm, yummy mouth. Ooofa. How had I kept my hands off him all these months? His room was five doors down from mine, not five miles.

His hands were instantly all over me, slipping up the back of my turtleneck and clutching my shoulders. Oh, good, he wasn't going to be difficult.

I ripped through his coat and shirt, and we lurched back and forth in the hallway, clothes tearing, tongues exploring. We crashed through a door—and I don't mean we bumped into it and it flew open. I mean we left splinters and fell over a chair or something—I dunno, I wasn't taking a fucking inventory, I didn't even know what room we were in—and then we were rolling around on the dusty carpet.

His throat was right over my mouth while his hands were busy below my waist, tearing through my clothes to give himself access, and I couldn't resist and bit him. He stiffened above me, and I nearly groaned as his warm sweet/salty blood filled my mouth. His hands moved faster, the tearing got louder, and then he was shoving his way inside me, filling me up, and I rose to meet him and then pulled back from his neck.

I licked his throat, and he seized me by the hair, jerked my head to one side, and sank his fangs into my neck. His rough urgency shoved me over into orgasm, and I brought my knees up and met him thrust for thrust. I had another one and was trying for big number three when he shuddered and his head dropped to my shoulder.

“So,” I said after a moment, “you're gonna need a new coat.”

He laughed. “Among other things.”

I stuck out my arm and looked at my watch over his shoulder. “Well, we've got about an hour until the sun comes up. I was gonna run down to Scratch, but I guess I could do that tomorrow.”

“Is it time for the tiresome small talk?”

“I was thinking it was time for the oral sex.”

He rolled off me, jumped to his feet, picked me up in his arms, and galloped to my room.

“D
are I ask what prompted this change of heart?” he asked after slamming the door shut with his heel and dumping me in the middle of the bed.

“It's boring,” I replied, removing the shreds of my clothes. “Besides, you shouldn't look a gift horse in the crotch.”

“A cliché that should be cross-stitched onto a sampler, no doubt.” He was hopping on one foot as he frantically tried to remove his shoe, and I laughed at the sight.

I had a thought, there in my head and almost gone, but I groped for it and got it. I wondered why I hadn't been able to read Sinclair's mind during sex, as I had always been able to do so before.

Well, my head had been a lot emptier before. There was room for him in there while we were boning away. But there wasn't room for him anymore. That was all right with me, though. A lot of things were going to be different from now on.

Finally he was rid of the stupid things and joined me on the bed. “I am glad you're here,” he told me. “I've waited a long time.”

“Lover, the waiting's over. I think it's safe to say I'm finally in a position to appreciate all your excellent qualities.”

And speaking of positions, we sixty-nined for a while—the cool thing about being a vampire? You don't need to stop to catch your breath. He was all the way down my throat and it didn't bother me a bit. We'd have to find someone to come in and fix the headboard, though…it was cracked right down the middle. One of us had kicked it—well, at one point we'd both kicked it.

After a while I climbed on top of him (Heigh-ho Silver, awaaaaay!) and was happily bouncing my way toward yet another orgasm when I heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the drive.

“Who's that?” I asked, looking at my watch again. Hmm. Fifteen minutes until sunrise. Vampire?

“Tina,” he groaned. “Do you think you could focus on the matter at hand, darling?”

Tina! Little Miss “You're the Queen but Sinclair's my boy” backstabber. So quick with the “Your Majesty” routine and so quick to sabotage me, leave me in the dark, do anything she could, every damn time, to make sure Sinclair came out on top.

I needed
him;
I sure as shit didn't need her. She was old—the oldest vampire I knew—and she was dangerous.

I had to get rid of her.

I dismounted and groped for my robe, which was hanging off the door to the master bath. No time to get properly dressed; I wanted to take care of this
now
.

“Elizabeth!” Sinclair sounded equal parts aggrieved and surprised. “Do you have an appointment you've forgotten?”

“Yeah.”
Just a little something I should have done six months ago.
“I'll be back. Don't finish without me.”

“But—” I was already hurrying down the hallway and didn't hear the rest. Sex with him was always super, and I'd get back to it soon enough, but this was a lot more important. The last thing I needed in my house was an infinitely old, infinitely crafty vampire who didn't have my best interests at heart.

Besides, there were plenty more where she came from. Younger. Less dangerous. Certainly less annoying. And my boy Sinclair wasn't going anywhere. He practically had a leash and a collar.

I caught up with Tina in the front entryway; she had just shut the door. I guess I'd really jammed down those stairs.

“Good morning, Your M—” Then she screamed. Possibly because I'd taken the small gold cross out of my robe pocket and thrown it at her.

Sinclair had given me the delicate necklace a few months ago (it had formerly belonged to his ages-dead baby sis). I couldn't wear it around the house; it hurt Sinclair and Tina to look at it, not to mention any vampire who wanted to come calling.

But (and this is the dopey part) I liked to keep it close. So it was usually in the pocket of my jeans or, at bedtime, my robe.

“Tina, in case you haven't noticed, I've had just about enough of your shit.”

“Don't—don't—” She'd dodged and was cringing in the corner. “Don't do that!”

“Don't ever tell me
don't
.” Hmm, that had sounded more menacing in my head. Oh well. She'd catch up with current events soon enough. Out with the old, in with the new. And all that.

“What's happened?” she cried.

I sent a fist looping toward her face for an answer, but she was too quick, and next thing I knew I was wrist-deep in the wall.

“Dammit!” I pulled my hand out and shook the plaster dust off. When I had someone call the headboard repairer, I'd also have them get a wallpaper hanger in here and have someone build a new door.

But first, back to the business at hand. I looked around for the cross. I could jam that sucker right through her forehead and bye-bye Tina; she'd die screaming and that was fine, as long as she died.

Ah! There it was, on the floor beside the small table we dumped our house keys on. I bent for it—and Tina grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back so hard I went sailing into the opposite wall.

“Hey!” Now I
really
wanted to kill her. “You keep your hands to yourself, you fucking cow.”

“I'm sorry, Majesty.” She was standing perfectly still, well to the left of the cross. She watched me carefully and with interest, like a cat watches a mouse hole. “But I'm not going to let you kill me. I want to help you. What's wrong?”

“Help me by standing still,” I replied, and launched myself at her. And got a kick to the chest for my trouble, and broke a chair as I hit the ground.

Damn! “You've kept in shape the last hundred years or so.”

“It's one of the advantages of being immortal,” she said calmly. It was actually sort of impressive how quickly she'd gone from flabbergasted surprise to cool assessment. Like I needed another reason to kill her. “Plenty of time to learn how to fight. What's happened?”

“Nothing much. Got some light reading done earlier tonight. The good news is, I know all about my sister. The bad news is, you're gonna have to go, Tina. Sorry.”

“She's gone crazy, Tina, watch out.” I looked. Jessica was standing in one of the doorways, gray-faced and bloody. She had a palm pressed to her forehead, stanching the yummy flow of blood. How had I let her sneak up on us? Son of a bitch! This house had too many people in it, and all but one or two were gonna have to go.

Jessica swayed a little and clutched the doorframe to steady herself. “I mean really crazy. I think—I think she read the Book for too long.”

“I gathered. Oh, Majesty.” Tina shook her head. “What are we going to do with you?”

This was annoying, to put it mildly. “You, shut the fuck up. And get lost; this is vampire business. And
you,
stand still.” I crossed the room too quickly for Tina to see—except she did see and easily avoided me. That was okay; it brought me much closer to the cross. I bent to get it. I'd ax Tina, and then I'd tool up on Jessica so bad, she'd be more worried about her iron lung than ratting me out ever again.

I heard the
whoosh
a split second before I felt the impact. The sun must have come up early, because my skull was filled with light.

Then the sun fell down. And so did I.