Vampire Mine (23 page)

Brynley set a plate of cookies and glass of milk on the coffee table, then retreated back to the kitchen table.

Marielle enjoyed the cookies until it was time to paint her fingernails. While the polish dried, Vanda and Marta settled on the couch next to her, each enjoying a glass of synthetic blood.

Brynley sat across from them on the rocking chair, munching on cookies and milk.

“I can see why Connor likes you.” Vanda sipped from her glass. “You‟re not just beautiful. You‟re very loving, and . . . I think he needs that.”

Marielle leaned back. “I‟m trying not to think about it right now.”
He needs you. He
needs love.

“Then let‟s talk about things we hate about men,” Brynley suggested. “Like what big babies they can be when they‟re in pain.”

Vanda chuckled.

Marielle didn‟t think Connor would be that way.

“Sometimes I wake up from my death-sleep,” Vanda said, “and Phil is lying next to me snoring something awful. So I punch him and tell him he snores loud enough to wake the dead.”

Brynley laughed.

“I don‟t think Connor snores,” Marielle said.

“Of course he doesn‟t! He‟s dead!” Brynley winced. “Speak of the devil.”

Marielle sat up and looked over her shoulder. Her heart did its usual jolt. Connor had returned. He was wearing new clothes, his hair was damp, and he was as handsome as ever.

“The sun rises in fifteen minutes,” he announced.

“All right.” Vanda stood. “Marta and I will be going.”

Marta finished the last of her blood and set down her glass. “It was good to see you again, Marielle. Take care.”

Marielle gave her and Vanda hugs. “Thank you. For everything.”

Vanda smiled. “It was fun.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table next to the tray of nail polish. “Good luck with your . . . problem.” She glanced at Connor, then lowered her voice.

“I‟ll talk to Ian.”

Marielle nodded.

“Don‟t worry about the mess,” Brynley said. “I‟ll clean up. I don‟t have much to do all day.”

Vanda and Marta teleported away.

Connor inclined his head. “I‟ll be preparing for my death-sleep now.” He turned and walked into Marielle‟s bedroom.

“Whoa,” Brynley whispered. “Is he going to sleep in your bed?”

“I—I don‟t think he can.” Hadn‟t he said that the light coming through the window would fry him?

“Weird,” Brynley muttered. She gathered things off the coffee table and took them to the kitchen.

Marielle wished she could help, but she needed to keep her distance from Brynley.

The door to her bedroom opened, and Connor emerged. His gaze sought out Marielle, then he looked away. “Good night.” He went into the closet next to the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Connor‟s in the closet,” Brynley whispered in a singsong voice, then laughed.

Marielle yawned. It had been another long night. “I think I‟ll go to bed, too.” She trudged toward the bedroom. “Thank you for guarding us during the day.”

“No problem.” Brynley smiled as she washed dishes. “If that nasty demon shows up, I‟ll blast him full of shotgun shells.”

Marielle paused at the bedroom door. “I hate to leave you alone all day, but I‟ve been up all night.”

“It‟s okay. Get some sleep.”

Marielle nodded. “God bless you.”

A hint of pain flickered in Brynley‟s eyes before she smiled back. “Good night.”

Marielle shut the door behind her and wandered over to the window. The night sky was growing lighter, taking on that luminous glow just before the sun shattered the horizon with glorious light and color.

Daybreak had always been her favorite time, a time filled with the hope and promise of a new day. But now, she could only think of Connor lying in the closet so near to her. Dying. All alone.

With a sigh, she turned toward her bed. A ray of morning sun shot through the window and landed on her pillow. Something sparkled.

She stepped closer, then gasped. There on her pillow was the angel sun catcher she‟d admired earlier in a shop window. Connor must have gone back to get it. That sweet, adorable man.

She picked it up and ran her fingers over the smooth golden glass of the angel‟s body and the carved facets of the angel‟s crystal wings.

How she missed her wings! Tears filled her eyes, and she sat on the edge of the bed. She held the angel in her lap and skimmed her fingers over its wings. A tear fell onto the angel, and she used the edge of her bathrobe to dry it. She‟d lost her wings. And the longer she stayed here on Earth, the more human she would become.

She‟d lost her wings. But she‟d found Connor.

With a sob, she pressed the angel to her chest. There was no point in denying the truth that was in her heart.

She was falling in love with him.

I
t was late afternoon when she awoke. She showered and dressed, then peeked out the bedroom door. She preferred to know exactly where Brynley was so she wouldn‟t accidentally bump into her.

A delicious smell wafted toward her. Brynley must have cooked something, but she was no longer in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Marielle stepped into the main room.

“In here,” Brynley called from the walk-in closet.

Marielle gasped. What on earth was Brynley doing in there? She rushed to the open door and gasped again.

Brynley had removed Connor‟s shoes and knee socks, and she was busy painting his toenails hot pink.

“Good heavens!” Marielle watched in horror. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Brynley smirked, then motioned toward his kilt. “Hey, should we lift it up and take a peek?”

“No!” Marielle‟s face flushed with heat. She didn‟t want to admit she‟d already seen his private parts. Twice.

“You just proved my point.” Brynley went back to painting the toenails on his right foot.

“You don‟t have a mean bone in your body.”

“What do my bones have to do with you painting his toenails? It‟s going to make him very angry.”

“I‟m counting on it.” Brynley started on his left foot. “I was thinking about it all day, and I don‟t think you‟ll be able to dump him. You‟re too nice. So, the only option left is to piss him off and chase him away.”

Marielle grimaced. “Chase him away?” She glanced at his handsome face. Could she really do that?

Brynley looked up at her. “If you try to reason with him, he‟ll just argue with you until you cave in. So the best strategy is to make him so angry, he wants to leave.”

Marielle swallowed hard.

“Listen carefully,” Brynley continued. “When he comes after you, furious and demanding why you did this to him, you tell him, „I felt like it. And if you don‟t like it, you can leave and never come back.‟ ”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, but it works.” Brynley‟s mouth twisted. “I should know.” She started on Connor‟s fingernails.

“Oh no!” Marielle protested. “Not those, too.”

Brynley gave her a stern look. “It‟s your only hope. Now let me hear you say it.”

Marielle winced, then quietly said, “I felt like it. And if you don‟t like it, you can leave and never come back.”

“Again. With more strength. He has to believe you mean it.”

She repeated it, although each word felt like it was being wrenched from her soul.

She trudged outside and sat in a rocking chair on the front porch. How had she come to this in just a few days?

A while later, Brynley came out with a plate of food and a glass of water. She set them on the small wooden table next to Marielle. “You must be hungry. And you need to keep your strength up.”

“Thank you.” She ate a little, but her appetite worsened as she watched the sun descend in the sky. Could she do it? Could she chase Connor away?

As the sun hovered over the horizon, the temperature dropped. She shivered and took her dishes into the cabin.

Brynley had turned on the lights. “Almost time.” She picked up the shotgun. “I‟m ready for him.”

Marielle dropped her plate with a clatter into the kitchen sink. “How angry do you think he‟s going to get?”

A thumping noise came from the closet, and Marielle jumped. He was awake. He would notice right away that his shoes and socks had been taken off.

“What the bloody hell?
”

“Remember your lines,” Brynley whispered as she headed out the front door, carrying the shotgun. “I‟ll be out here if you need me.”

The closet door crashed open. Connor stood barefoot in the opening, his eyes a brilliant, gleaming blue, his red hair wild and loose about his shoulders.

Marielle gulped.

His gaze zeroed in on her. “Woman,” he growled.

She stepped back. “Your eyes are glowing blue.”

“Rage.” His fangs sprang out.

With a gasp, she stepped back again.

He wrenched the refrigerator door open, grabbed a bottle of blood, then stuffed it into the microwave. He pressed the buttons, then stopped to glare at his hot pink fingernails. His hand curled into a fist.

His head turned toward her. “
You
.” His eyes burned into her. He grabbed the bottle from the microwave, still cold, and guzzled some down.

He slammed the bottle down on the kitchen counter, then advanced toward her. His fangs were still out and stained red with blood. “Why did ye do it?”

She lifted her chin. “I felt like it.” Her voice trembled. “And if you don‟t like it, you can . . .”

He arched a brow as he continued to move toward her. “I can what?”

Tears stung her eyes. “You can leave and never come back.”

L
eave?
Connor halted his advance on Marielle. His vision turned a more intense blue as his rage surged to a dangerous level.

What were those crazy women doing to his angel? The first night they‟d taught her about blow jobs, and now they had obviously embroiled her in some sort of stupid drama that was supposed to make him leave.

Leave?
Over his dead body.

His hands curled into fists. “What about yer training? Do ye intend to go into battle unable to defend yerself?”

She stiffened her spine in a gesture of strength, but the tears in her eyes told another story. “I can train myself.”

“Can ye teleport yerself?”

“Ian will take me. And he and Phil can protect me.”

“Ye‟re planning to replace me?” She might as well have stabbed him in the chest. “Am I suddenly
untrustworthy
?” he bellowed.

When she flinched, he made an effort to tamp down on his rage.

He grabbed the bottle off the counter and drank the rest of the blood. It tasted awful this cold, but it helped cool his rage a little. His fangs retracted, but his vision remained tinted blue, a sure sign he was still on the verge of losing control.

He set the empty bottle down. “Do ye know what infuriates me the most? ‟Tis no‟ the damned nail polish. Nor the fact that those women have lured you into some sort of childish plot.”

When she didn‟t respond, he turned his head to glare at her. “I gave you my word that I would help you, that I would get you back to heaven no matter what.”

Her face paled.

He advanced toward her once again. “And ye ask, nay, ye
tell
me to leave? Does my word mean nothing to you?” His voice rose to a shout. “Do ye expect me break my pledge?”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I expect you to leave.”

His jaw shifted. “Ye‟re forgetting something.” He stepped closer. “Angels make terrible liars.”

Her mouth opened to protest, but before she could say a word, he clamped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her against his chest. She gasped.

“Yer heart is pounding something fierce.” He touched her cheek. “Yer heart doesna lie.”

A tear slipped down her cheek and he caught it with his thumb.

“Yer tears doona lie.” He dragged his hand down her throat, then farther down to cup her breast. “Ye tremble at my touch. Yer body doesna lie.”

He gently squeezed her breast, and she moaned. “At last, some truth coming from yer lips.” He kissed her lightly. “Now tell me if—”

The front door slammed open.

“She told you to leave, so go!” Brynley stormed inside, leveling a shotgun.

Bloody fool! If she pulled the trigger, she might kill Marielle. Connor teleported behind Brynley, ripped the shotgun from her grasp with one hand, and shoved her against the wall with the other.

She gasped, no doubt surprised by his vampire speed and strength. She attempted to move, but he kept her pinned.

“It was you, aye? Ye‟re the one who painted my nails.”

Brynley grabbed his arm and tried to shake him lose. “Let me go, you undead creep!”

He slid his hand up to circle her neck, then leaned closer. “Doona ever mess with me while I‟m in my death-sleep.”

“Fine!” Her eyes blazed with anger. “And you stop pawing the angel.”

He released her and stepped back. Holy Christ Almighty, was that what this was about?

The women didn‟t want him touching Marielle? He glanced at her. She looked miserable, with red-rimmed eyes. She‟d gone along with their ridiculous plan. That could only mean she wanted him to stop touching her, too.

An icy cold wave swept through him, chilling him to the bone. “Agreed.” He walked outside.

Pain expanded in his chest, so sudden and so sharp it stole his breath away.
Bugger
. He‟d thought he was too much of a coldhearted bastard to ever get hurt like this. Marielle had certainly proved him wrong.

He removed the shells from the shotgun and laid the weapon on the porch next to the house. The blue tint to his vision was completely gone now. No more rage. Just pain. And sadness.

He retrieved his cell phone from his sporran and called Ian. “Are ye coming to pick up Brynley?”

“Aye, in just a few minutes,” Ian replied. “I—uh, Vanda asked me to spend the night there as Marielle‟s protector.”

“Nay. The job is mine. Just come and take Brynley. And . . . bring me some nail polish remover.”

Ian paused. “Some what?”

“Nail polish remover! I assume yer wife has some.”

“Aye. I‟ll be there soon.”

Connor rang off and dropped the phone back in his sporran.
Bugger
. Ian was going to get a big laugh out of this.