Undead and Unreturnable, Page 3

  There was a shiny red Dodge Ram pickup in the driveway, parked crookedly, one tire actually in the grass. I had no idea who the hell it was-no one I knew drove a red truck-and wondered if I wanted to go in.

  See, things started out innocently enough-a visitor, a comment, finding out a new vampire rule-and the next thing I know, I'm up to my tits in undead politics, or attempted revolutions, or dead bodies.

  It had gotten so that I distrusted everything new, no matter how minor. And that was a big truck. Not minor at all. With a super-cab, no less. It could have brought five new troublemakers to my house, easy.

  I looked at my watch. It was only six-thirty. But that meant Tina and Sinclair were up, at least. So if it was something annoying, I'd at least have help. Maybe I could fob the whole thing off on them.

  Shit, maybe it didn't have a single thing to do with me!

  Nah.

  I let myself in the front door in time to hear a cracking adolescent male voice yell, "I'll go if Betsy wants me to go, so cram it, Sinclair!"

  I knew that piping, wanting-to-be-deep-but-not-quite-making-it voice. Jon Delk, former head of the Blade Warriors, current pain in my ass. After the Warriors disbanded last summer, he'd gone back to the family farm. I hadn't heard from him since. What the hell could have brought him back? Nothing good, that's what.

  "Tina," I heard Sinclair say casually, and because I knew that voice, I started running, "see our little friend out. "

  "Go ahead, vampire. You just lay one dead finger on me. "

  "Okay," Tina said cheerfully and then I burst into the kitchen.

  "Stop it! Whatever it is, play nice, you bums. "

  "Betsy. " His face-his young, wholesome, ridiculously handsome face-brightened when he saw me, and he smiled so wide his dimples showed. "Hey. Great to see you. You look great. It's really. . . uh. . . "

  "Great?" Sinclair snarked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Stretched out in front of him like they were, his legs looked a mile long.

  His darkness was an odd contrast to Jon-I mean, everything about Eric was dark. The clothes, the attitude. Even the way he carried himself; like he could pounce on you at any minute.

  Meanwhile, Jon was practically vibrating from trying just to stand still, and he kept raking his hands through his blond hair, which did nothing to straighten it. He was always in constant motion, while Eric could do statue imitations and win, every time.

  Jon's blue eyes watched us all anxiously, but I could smell gun oil and leather, so I knew he was wearing a holster somewhere-probably his armpit. Guys loved the armpit holster, though my mom had taught me it was one of the worst places to carry a gun. You could never get to it in time.

  And he probably had at least one knife on him. He looked like a corn-fed nineteen-year-old, and he was. But he had also teamed up with a bunch of loners and killed more vampires than most people would see in a lifetime.

  Luckily, he liked me, and liking me had ruined his taste for staking vampires. I wasn't sure why, because most vampires were assholes, but I wasn't going to complain. I held out my hand, and Jon shook it with a sweaty palm. "It's nice to see you, too. Is anything wrong?"

  "I guess that depends," he replied, glaring over his shoulder at the lounging Sinclair, "on who you ask. "

  "No, uh, new dead people, though. Right?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing like that. Betsy, can I talk to you in private? Maybe in your room?"

  "Our room," Sinclair corrected, and smiled when the blood rushed to Jon's face.

  "Oh, so you've finally gotten around to moving your stuff in? You've only had two months. "

  That took care of the smile, I was happy to see, and sure, maybe I shouldn't have said it, but I couldn't stand to see them picking on a kid. It was the fifth grade all over again.

  "The queen has many duties," Tina added, her legs scissoring in her lap as she crossed them and looked smug. "I don't think there's time to-"

  "Butt out, Tina. And Eric-knock it off. Hello, guest in our happy home?"

  "Uninvited guest," Sinclair muttered.

  "You wanna go?" Jon challenged. "Because we'll go, partner. Anytime. "

  "As a matter of fact, I do want to go," Sinclair said, straightening up from the counter in a movement so abrupt, even I couldn't see it.

  "No, no. You guys! Jeez. " I turned to Jon, who had a hand out of sight under his jacket. "Don't you dare pull a gun in my kitchen. I'm the only one who can pull a gun in my kitchen. Let's go up. " Men! Like rats fighting over a hamburger, I swear to God. "Tell me all about. . . whatever it is. We all wondered where you went after you left. "

  He was young enough that he didn't feel silly sticking his tongue out at them-but boy, he sure looked silly. Tina rolled her eyes, but Sinclair just stared at him like a snake at an egg. I bit my own tongue, figuring Jon had taken enough shit for one day. Chapter 8

 

  I let him go ahead of me on the stairs, speaking of juvenile actions. I couldn't help it; he had the nicest butt. He favored faded blue jeans and big belts, shitkicker boots, and T-shirts. He looked like an ad for Wheaties.

  We had barely gotten to the first landing when he whirled, grabbed my shoulders, and burst out, "Betsy, you can't!"

  Startled, I grabbed his wrists. "What?"

  "You can't marry him. "

  "That's why you're here?" I mean, liking me was something, but for heaven's sakes.

  "You can't do it, Betsy. " I was gently trying to loosen his fingers from my shoulders, but he clung like plastic wrap. "I know you, and it'll never work. You're good, and he's not. He's totally not. You can't marry him. "

  "Jon. . . " My God, was I going to have to break his fingers? "Personal bubble, Jon. "

  He let go. Whew. "Sorry. "

  "Jon, listen. I know Sinclair has done his share of-"

  "Murderous disgusting blood-sucking deeds?"

  "-uh-questionable errands, but he's not really that bad. I mean, Nostro was bad. Monique was bad. He's just trying to get along. "

  "Betsy, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. He is a bad man. If this was a western, he'd be the one wearing the black hat. "

  "Jon, you have no idea what bad really is," I said, as nicely as I could. "If you did, you'd know Sinclair wasn't it. The vampire world, like our world, isn't black and white. . . there's tons of gray areas. Sometimes you have to make a bad choice to do a good thing. He's done everything for me-he's been killed for me, and he's saved my life. I think he's saved my life. I mean, assuming I could even-never mind, we're getting off the subject. "

  "Betsy. " Jon stuck his hands in his front pockets, past the wrist, and looked away. "Sometimes a guy will do things for a-for a pretty girl. I'm not saying I don't think he, uh, likes you. "

  "You're saying I'm too good for him. "

  "Well. . . "

  "That's really nice. " I meant it. It was the compliment of the month. It was the thing I would take out and reminisce about when I was an old lady. "But I know what I'm doing. And I love him. I bet that's the last thing you want to hear, but it's true. And how could I not get married to the guy I love?"

  He winced and still wouldn't meet my eyes. "Maybe it's a trick. "

  "Like a vampire mojo thing? I only think I love him? I really only love his teeth and his dick?"

  That did it; he glared at me, full in the eyes, and the blood rushed into his cheeks. "Don't talk like that. That's not what I-"

  "Because, believe me, I resisted the dark side for as long as I could. Then I realized he really wasn't. Bad, I mean. Well, that bad. " Did it sound like I was making excuses for him? I didn't mean to. It was just. . . difficult to put into words. How I felt about him. What he meant to me. Shit, I'd only admitted to myself that I loved him three months ago. "He just took a little getting used to. "

  "Betsy, I'm not saying I don't think it's a good match-although I don't. "

  Now I was confused. "So you a
re saying you don't think it's a good match? Right?"

  He kept going, unfortunately. Full speed ahead, and damn the torpedoes. "I don't think he's a good man. For anybody. "

  "Oh, so if he was marrying, say, Tina, you would have come down here to warn her off, too?"

  Stubborn silence.

  "Jon, did you really come all the way from the valley to try to stop my wedding? Because you had months to do that, you know. "

  "Ani stopped by and she-we caught up on current events, I guess you could say. And-" He cut himself off, but I knew where he'd been going. And as soon as I heard you were getting married, 1 got in my dad's truck and left. Oh, boy. Poor Jon. Crushes were the absolute worst. I'd almost rather die again. It felt like dying again, when you heard the person you adored above all others had never, ever given you a thought like that, and probably never would.

  "I'm getting married, Jon. On"-for an awful moment I couldn't remember the new date-"September 15. I'd love it if you could come. All the Bees are welcome. "

  He smiled. Well, his lips moved. We both pretended not to notice that his eyes had filled and he was sniffing like he'd instantly picked up a cold-or a cocaine habit. "That stupid name. "

  "Hey, you want to talk stupid? How about the Blade Warriors? I feel ridiculous even saying it to you. You're lucky I just use the first letter. "

  The Blade Warriors! Oh, boy. Like my life wasn't silly enough. This past summer a bunch of kids-yep, that's right, not one of them could legally drink-got together and started hunting down vampires. The scary part? They were weirdly successful. (Vampires were notoriously complacent. ) The scarier part? I was able to talk them into not doing that anymore. The Bees (I tried not to use the stupid name) had scattered and gone their own way. And now one of them was back, almost literally in my lap.

  "I don't know if I'll be able to come," he said, changing the subject. . . but not really.

  "Well, either way. I'm just happy to have anyone there who has a pulse. "

  "Will there be a lot of vampires there?"

  "Yes, and no. My wedding is not a research opportunity, get it? Throw rice and drink. No, you're too young to drink. Throw more rice. Have a Shirley Temple. Go crazy. "

  "So it's going to be a wedding wedding?"

  "Sure. "

  He chewed on that one for a few seconds. "I've never heard of that before. "

  "Well, don't you start. Sinclair gives me enough grief. "

  He perked up. "Really? He doesn't like all the bells and whistles?"

  "Oh, you know. He says because we're consorts there's no need for bouquet, maid of honor, best man toast, all that. "

  "Really?" I could see his dimples again. Odd, the things that depressed the boy and brought him back up. "You, uh, you need any help?"

  "You mean planning? Or in general? Because the answer to both is, I dunno. September's a long way off. "

  "Well. . . " He looked around the foyer and then glanced down the stairs. "I don't have to be back right away. . . "

  "Do you have a place to stay?"

  "Not really. I was going to stop by the church, see if Father Markus could put me up for a few nights. . . "

  "Is that supposed to be a hint? Because it sucks. Why don't you just shove me off the landing? It'd be more subtle. "

  He laughed. "Yeah, it was pretty lame. Can I crash here?"

  "Of course you can. We've got more rooms than the Hilton. " In my mind, I could already picture Sinclair's reaction. I probably wasn't going to get laid tonight, at the very least.

  Well, tough shit. The kid had had a rotten enough day; I wasn't going to turn him out onto the street on top of all that.

  "That's great. I'd-I'd really like to stay here. " He glanced around the ancient staircase. "It looks interesting. Like something out of an old book. "

  "Yeah, interesting. Hope you like dust. But listen, we've got a feral killer vampire living in the basement, so don't go down there. Oh, and if you drink all the milk, you have to replace it. "

  "What?"

  "I know, but see, we all like milk in our tea, and when we're out it's really-"

  "Did you say feral killer vampire?"

  "Right, right. But he's okay. Just stay out of the basement. I don't want you up to any of your old tricks. "

  "Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Good to see you. "

  "Good to see you, too. " He smiled at me like he meant what he was saying.

  Damn dimples. Chapter 9

 

  I tiptoed down the hall and quietly rapped on the door to Sinclair's closet room. It would have been his bedroom, except he didn't sleep in there; he slept with me. But all his clothes and such were in here. And I'm sure that meant something, but I wasn't going to worry about it now.

  "Eric?" I whispered, knowing full well he could hear me. But I wanted to keep our impending chat as private as I could.

  "Yes?" he whispered back.

  "Can I come in?"

  "Why?"

  I spun around. He was in the hallway, grinning and carrying a foot-thick freshly wrapped pile of clean dry cleaning by the hangers. Wooden hangers. Wherever he went, it cost a friggin' fortune. "You know I hate, hate, hate when you sneak up on me. You know that, right?"

  "It's possible you might have mentioned it once before. " He leaned past me and opened the door and then courteously stood aside so I could go in. "What nasty business have you been involved in since we parted ways four hours ago? I can't imagine what else would bring you to my room. Have you finally given in to your primal urge to kill Antonia?"

  "I wish. "

  "Perhaps you kidnapped Baby Jon for his own good, and now you're here to tell me I'm a new father. "

  "I really wish. " I paused. Best to just get it over with. "I invited Jon of the Bees to move in with us. "

  He was taking each dark suit out of its plastic cocoon and carefully examining it before hanging it on some kind of weird suit tree, and in the middle of the ritual he laughed. "What a coincidence. I invited the new pope for breakfast. "

  "No, really. "

  He glanced at me and frowned. It was a mild frown, but pretty much all the sun and joy were sucked out of the room when his smile went. "Elizabeth. "

  "I know, I know. "

  "Elizabeth. You didn't. "

  "I really kind of did. "

  His eyebrows had rushed together to become one overpowering, disapproving unibrow. "Well, I am sure, since the invitation came so easily and thoughtlessly tripping off your dulcet tongue, you can un-invite him just as easily. "

  "It's only for a little while. Just till he gets his shit together. "

  "Oh, so twenty years, then?" he snapped. He tried to stomp toward me, but dry cleaning bags were everywhere and he was momentarily snared. I chewed on the insides of my cheeks and stared at him with wide eyes as he stumbled toward me. Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh.

  His black eyes narrowed, and he stomped an errant bag, which deflated with a sad whoooooooooffff. "Are you smiling, girl?"

  "No, Eric. " Girl? That was a new one. "Listen, I could hardly turn him out into the street. "

  "Why not, exactly?"

  "Eric! Come on. Look, I'll make it up to you. "

  "Too damned right you will," he muttered, and grabbed me by the elbows.

  "You're just going to fuck me, right? You're not going to make me run a lint brush over all your suits or anything horrible like that, right?"

  "Be quiet. " He pulled me in for a savage kiss and then tossed me on the bed and landed on me like a cat. In a flash, one hand was up my skirt, divesting me of my tights, and the other was pulling at his own pants. And while he was busy with all that, his tongue was busy in my mouth. I tried to help, to move, but he was controlling everything, and so I lay there and, as they say to do, thought of England. Except I was really thinking about his big dick and drooling at what he was going to do to me with it.

  He pushed ins
ide me and I wasn't ready, but I didn't give a ripe damn. We both grunted as we tried to force friction where there wasn't much. He had stopped kissing me and had buried his face in my throat, and my legs were wrapped around his waist. His shirt was still buttoned, and we both had our socks on.

  He finally slid all the way home and I was able to pump back at him, and we found a sort of rhythm. It was better, much better, way better-it was fantastic. I loved the way his hands felt on my body, strong and frantic, and the way his voice sounded in my head:

  Never let anyone else never never you're mine mine mine mine MINE MINE.

  Pretty much just frantic. Then he stiffened against me, and even though I was miles away from coming, I didn't mind. I knew he'd spend the next hour making it up to me.

  He collapsed over me with a groan, and I laughed; my shirt was still on, too. But with scattered clothes and all the plastic bags, the room looked like Filene's Basement on the day of a really good sale.

  "Don't laugh at me, you horrible woman," he said without heat.

  "Sorry, Eric. That was a real good lesson you taught me. Consider me chastened. Also, the Minnesota Vikings are moving in tomorrow. "

  He groaned again. "You're trying to kill me. You should feel deep shame. "

  "Ha!" I looped my legs around his waist and tickled him behind his ear, in a spot I knew was sensitive. "Ready to go again?"

  "Kill me," he mumbled, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, but he couldn't hide the gleam in his eyes, or the sudden, ah, surge of interest. "The state of Minnesota frowns on premeditated murder, you know. "

  "The state of Minnesota would frown on pretty much everything that goes on in this house. " I pulled off my strawberry socks and threw them in the air. "Let's ride, partner!"

  "They probably don't think much of suicide, either," he snarked, but then he was kissing me again, and I pretty much lost the rest.

  "What are you supposed to do again?" Jessica whispered.

  "I told you, like, three times. Jeez, tune me out much?"

  "There's a lot of trivia in your life I have to sift through. "

  "What am I, the six o'clock news?"

  "Exactly!" she said, refusing to take offense. "Sometimes it's hard to remember what's important and what's not so much. "

  "Very nice! Here. . . one-ten, one-eleven, one-twelve. " We paused outside the closed door, which, like all nursing home doors, tried to look homey with cards and such, and was anything but. No matter what you did to them, they looked, felt, and smelled like hospitals.