Undead and Unforgiven(48)

“You don’t think he turned her, do you?”

An emphatic shake of the head. “Absolutely not.”

“I think Tina’s right: look how she’s dressed. She went looking to get jumped. Took matters into her own hands and now she’s deader than shit.” I resisted the urge to berate the corpse. “What a waste. So now what?”

Marc cleared his throat. “Um, this is pretty awful, and I totally get why you’d say no—”

“You want to examine her.”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “It’ll keep my brain occupied, and, frankly, living with you guys? I need to know everything I can about vamp physiology. And since you won’t let me examine you anymore—”

“We waited three hours for my knee reflex to kick in,” I practically shouted. “Who has time for that?”

“Majesty, I think you should allow this. The body is rather ideal for that purpose,” Tina pointed out. “No one alive will know to come here looking for her. Her family may not even know she’s dead yet. If she wasn’t spotted breaking into the mansion, we likely have a few days before we must dispose of her.”

“Just once. Just once I’d like to have a quiet Friday night at home and not have to worry about where we’ll dispose of a body.”

I heard the front door being thrown open and the thunder of feet on the stairs. “Honey, I’m home,” I murmured, stepping away from the doorway so Sinclair wouldn’t run me over in his rush to get into the room and save me. Even with the precaution, it was a near thing.

“You’re all safe.” It wasn’t a question, but Sinclair liked to make obvious statements when under stress. No, wait. That was me . . . “Thank God. I beg your pardon, Tina.”

“Under the circumstances,” she said and waved away his apology.

“Beloved,” he said, pulling me into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Toldja. We had it covered. Tell me you didn’t mow down some poor unsuspecting dog walker to get back here.”

“I’m almost certain I did not.” He took in Marc’s injuries. “Do you require assistance, my friend?”

“Huh?” I could tell Marc was knocked sideways by “my friend.” He knew Sinclair was fond of him, but my taciturn husband had never said so in so many words. The reappearance of Lawrence in his life must have reminded him how valuable our roommates were. “No, don’t think so. I mean, normally I’d need about a hundred stitches, and there’s some tendon damage . . .” He was inspecting his arms as he diagnosed himself. “But it doesn’t hurt anymore. And the bleeding’s minimal.” He smiled a little. “Never thought I’d be so glad to be a zombie. If I’d been alive—”

“You’d be dead,” I finished.

“Yep. That about covers it.”

“I am glad the hurt wasn’t worse,” Sinclair said fervently. “I do not— I have always had difficulty—cultivating and maintaining friendships.”

“Maybe because you make friendship sound like a garden you have to prune and fertilize?” Marc suggested.

“And I have always found friends to be a mixed blessing,” he finished, raising an eyebrow at Marc.

“Aw, you know you’re our favorite vampire king,” Marc said and threw his bloody zombie arms around him in a spontaneous hug. He was so quick, and Sinclair was so surprised, it was like my husband had been attacked by a blizzard of elbows.

“Ah. Thank you. There now.” He carefully extricated Marc’s limbs from his and patted his shoulder. “Thank you.” It was awkward beyond belief, but the slow, silly smile spreading across his face made it worth seeing. “Well. I admired Lawrence greatly for his accomplishments, his open mind, his fair dealings with the Indians—”

We all winced at the non-PC term.

“—and his devotion to duty. And it was good to see him again.” Remembering he likely never would again, Sinclair looked down at the body and his mouth went thin. “What a waste.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Stupid, willful child.”

“Thaaaat’s a little harsh. She fucked up, but . . .” I prodded her little foot. “She paid for it.”

“As did Lawrence. She found him first.”

“How could a newborn take out someone like your friend? He’s powerful; he’s gotta know his way around a fight. Y’know, because of his background.”

“What?”

Marc looked at me. “The guy was the go-between between the Native Americans and the guys at Fort Snelling way back when.” At our stares, Marc added defensively, “What? I looked him up. That’s what I do around here these days, research. Well, that and the newsletter. And vodka runs. But anyway, this guy was pretty cool. The natives called him ‘No-Sugar-in-Your-Mouth’ because he always dealt straight with them. And he was looking out for Cindy’s family all that time, too. How can he be dead by some newly risen baby vamp?”