Undead and Unforgiven(83)

Subjectively I was in that room for a day and a half. (Later I found out it had been just over an hour.) I also found out that the old lady had come to ask Betsy not to kill her dad. But Betsy the so-called vampire queen had no interest in killing her dad, or her sister, even. Given that her sister was busy either exposing her or telling horrendous lies about her, that was a pretty decent reaction.

So, already worth the trip. They wouldn’t kill me for overhearing that someone wouldn’t kill their family, right? Someone who valued life so much he’d save a stranger wouldn’t allow that.

Right?

After a while I realized the old lady was going to leave the way she came in. I realized this when she opened the door in her coat with her car keys in her hand. Before I could calm her down (“I’m not here to steal!”) or explain (“I have a crush on the guy with the broken leg whose last name I don’t know.”) she was on me. She grabbed me by my ear (who does that?) and hauled me into the next room, which I discovered, as I blinked painfully to adjust to the light, was the kitchen.

“No wonder the dogs didn’t want to stay in here,” was the first comment.

“We can kill him, right? Breaking and entering?”

“It’s just entering!” I said. Okay, squealed. “Please, I just want to see him— Ow-ow-ow!”

“See who?” This from the so-called vampire queen.

“Me.” Marc sighed. Then: “Uh, it is me, right?”

“You know this man, Marc?” The old lady released the pincher grip on my ear and I groaned in relief and rubbed rubbed rubbed. Who knew something so far above my waist was so susceptible to pain?

“He’s one of the reporters we keep sending on their way.” This from Eric Sinclair, the husband/vampire king. His deep silky voice was terrifying. So were his height and build—he looked solid, like he worked out, and was almost a head taller than me. He had perfected the art of long-distance looming; he wasn’t even close to me and I still felt crowded. His face was pale. His eyes burned. “And yes, we are well within our legal rights to kill him on sight.”

“You won’t, though.” I coughed and tried again. Less squeak this time, Will. “You don’t need that kind of publicity.”

“If no one knows you were here, no one will know this was where your trail went cold.” This in a voice so matter-of-fact it was terrifying. People had said “I guess I’ll have fries” with more emotion.

“Knock it off, sir.” Yes, hardly any squeak that time. “If she won’t kill her dad for helping her sister betray her, she’s not going to let you kill a random blogger.”

“Good heavens, how long were you in there?” The old lady’s fingers twitched and I shied away from her.

“Not the ear again!” I shouted, then tried to calm down. My ear felt puffy and hot and I was sure it was swelling. Please let Marc think cauliflower ear is sexy. “Look, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“Yes.” This from Mr. Sinclair, who was smiling at me in a way I didn’t like at all. Any other time, someone built like that giving me his full attention would be heady. Not now, though. It was just frightening. “That’s true.”

“Not because I’m an insignificant bug compared to a vampire king. I’m not here to write about you, any of you.” I rubbed my ear and glared at the old lady. “Well, maybe you, ma’am.”

“Try it, boy,” she snapped back. “And it’s Dr. Taylor.”

“Please, he saved me.” I was trying not to whine. “I just wanted to see him again. He didn’t have to lift a finger but he did. He hurt himself to help me for no reason. And then he blew it off like it was nothing.”

“It—” the pretty blonde in the corner began, the first time she’d spoken. She looked about seventeen, which she probably wasn’t. “It was—”

“It wasn’t nothing. He broke his leg for me.”

Betsy, she of the vampire kingdom and blond highlights, snapped her fingers. “Son of a bitch! Your limp!” She whirled on Marc, whose dazed expression hadn’t changed since Dr. Taylor dragged me into the kitchen ear-first. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Marc snapped out of his trance. Please let it be a sex trance brought on by cauliflower ear. “I tried! You blew it off to take the dogs for a walk and then my leg was—and then I kind of forgot about it.”

“Because your broken leg got better,” I said and got a bunch of glares in reply. “Because you’re not human. Any of you.” I glared at Dr. Taylor. “Well, maybe you.”