Broken Heart 07 Cross Your Heart (5 page)

I needed to retrieve control of the situation. “I’ll drop you off at the Old Sass Café while I attend to my own breakfast.”

“And what do you eat?” His gaze suggested he had a menu in mind, though I doubted it consisted of the carotid artery.

“I’m a vampire. I drink blood.”

“Huh. Not sure how I feel about you gnawing necks. Especially another guy’s.” He stood mere inches from me. He wore his hair short on the sides, and spiked on the top. It was almost militaristic, but the look fit him perfectly. He was too sexy. I felt my pulse stutter, which was ridiculous because I had no pulse.

“We hardly know each other,” I said. “So, your opinion about my dining options is irrelevant.” His gaze darkened even more, and he leaned forward. I licked my lips. I liked the way he was looking at me, and I liked the way I felt. In this moment, I was the only woman in the world; and this man, this gorgeous man, wanted only me. So, as Tez had asked earlier, I decided to talk pretty to him. “Yes. Your opinion simply doesn’t count. Neither does your inexplicable ire about the gender of my donors.”

“Jesus. That vocabulary of yours makes me hot.” His gaze went unnaturally still—a rather eerie reminder of how his jaguar self looked right before it pounced. “But that snotty tone of yours is what really gets me hard.”

My stomach dropped to my toes, and I swear I could feel the pounding of my undead heart. It was nonsense, of course, but I almost felt alive around Tez. He didn’t appear to care very much about manners or politically correct behavior. Of course, the citizens of Broken Heart weren’t the type to beat around the bush. I’d grown to like the direct way most people talked to each other; it was far better than dancing around expected behaviors in polite company. It seemed that Tez would fit in just fine in our little town. Tez’s particular brand of directness was… well, rather a turn-on (there, I said it). I swallowed the knot—or was that my heart?—in my throat. “You’re very earthy.”

He grinned again, but the gesture was more a feral parting of his lips, and a show of a lot of white teeth. Yet another predatory move that unnerved me. I wasn’t used to such intense attention, especially not from a man. “Say that thing about gusta-whatever.”

I couldn’t resist playing the game, even if I wasn’t sure about the rules. I looked at him through my lashes. “You mean… gustatory pleasures?”

He leaned down and sucked on my lower lip. I was stunned by his action, and found myself too flabbergasted to protest such an intimate gesture. He swept a thumb over my swollen lip. “You taste like cinnamon.”

“It’s my gloss.” Oh, excellent comeback, Elizabeth. I stifled a groan of embarrassment. Obviously I was ill-prepared for flirting. I needed one of those “For Dummies” guides—then again, I didn’t think there was a book available that would teach me how to deal with Tez.

“Hmm. I like it.” He leaned in to smell my hair. “You gonna introduce me to your meal?”

His closeness discombobulated me. He was doing it on purpose, to keep me off guard. “What would be the point?”

“To see if he’s better looking than me.”

Hah. An opening I could use.

“He’s utterly gorgeous,” I said with a dreamy sigh. Well! Maybe I could play the coquette. “Sometimes, I sit on his lap, wrap my arms around those big, broad shoulders, and just… lick.” I looked at Tez, and smiled. “We should go now, so I can suck on his delicious neck.”

“I might have to kill this guy,” said Tez, his eyes glinting with humor. He leaned down and tugged my earlobe between his teeth. I felt his tongue trace the inner shell of my ear, which made me tingle all the way to my toes. Then he whispered, “You really are a cruel woman.”

I pushed him, and, to my relief, he backed up a couple of steps. “Just remember that,” I said primly.

“Oh, I will,” he said, baring that feral grin. “I like it down and dirty. Rough. Hard. Mean.” His toothy grin widened. “I think you’re the perfect woman for me.”

I drove Tez to his car, parked at the Thrifty Sip. The convenience store had been abandoned for a long time, and due to an accidental dragon fire, it was now just a burned-out shell. I gave Tez directions to the Old Sass Café and agreed to meet him there in a half an hour. He had no problem shedding the robe and redressing right there next to his car.

I’d already seen him naked, and I very much enjoyed staring at his impressive form. The problem, of course, was resisting the urge to touch all those muscles. Not to mention the things my mouth wanted to do him.

I looked in my rearview mirror. “Who are you?” I whispered. “Where’s proper Elizabeth Silverstone Bretton?”

I left before Tez witnessed my drooling—and encouraged me to do something about it. I had lust issues, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about my overwhelming attraction. I couldn’t recall ever imagining a lover falling into a vat of chocolate, which I then laved from him, ankles to lips. What about Tez inspired such fantastical thoughts?

For a vampire with lack of body temperature, I felt unaccountably hot.

I drove to my donor’s home, a five-bedroom ranch on Sanderson Street. Donors often shared domiciles since the turnover rate was so high; most spent limited time as vampire meals. Of course, humans who left Broken Heart had their memories wiped (and new memories implanted). Some stuck around for the long haul, though, and had homes of their own.

Although some vampires preferred seeking out the same donors, I enjoyed the variety. I arrived at approximately the same time each evening and dined on whoever was available. Had I been given the choice to Turn or to die, I would’ve chosen Turning. Granted, there were sacrifices, but there were also wonderful benefits, and I embraced my vampire nature. Certainly, I sometimes thought about what life would’ve been like had I not become undead. In the more than five years since Henry’s death, if I had not become a vampire, what would I have done with my life? Despite Henry’s libidinous behavior, I did love him. We didn’t have the everlasting love I so often read about in my favorite books, but his passing did put my life into a tailspin. Maybe I would’ve traveled or found someone new to love or… well, the possibilities were many. But I couldn’t dwell on the life I didn’t get to have. I loved Broken Heart and its quirky residents, and I loved my vampire gifts. I did wish, however, that I had a larger purpose, a bigger role to fulfill in this world in which I now lived. But I had yet to figure what, exactly, would make me feel more useful.

When I arrived at the donor house, Harold Panner met me at the door. He was in his forties with thinning blond hair and a slight paunch. He loved all variations of brown and beige, which frankly did nothing for his coloring. He needed more jeweled tones, more blue, green, or even purple. Harold had been a real estate agent in Tulsa who’d lost nearly everything—his job, his home, and his wife. He’d been on the precipice of suicide when Patrick O’Halloran found him and invited him to become a donor.

I liked Harold. He was nice. We sat in the kitchen and talked for a little while. Then he shyly offered his neck, and I took my pint. Vampire saliva had a numbing agent to prevent pain, and healing properties to erase the marks left by our fangs.

After the feeding was over, Harold walked me to the door. He shook my hand, his eyes bright—pleasure was often a residual effect of feeding—and we said our good-byes.

“Elizabeth!” called a familiar voice. I paused on the sidewalk and looked down the street. My friends Jessica and Patrick live just a couple houses away. Patrick O’Halloran was the twin of Lorcan, the vampire who, crazed with the Taint, had killed me and ten others. Patrick and Lorcan were also the sons of Ruadan, the very first of our kind. Lorcan and Patrick had founded the Consortium more than five hundred years ago. However, the current leader of the organization was Ivan Taganov. He didn’t spend a lot of time in Broken Heart, partially because the woman he’d nearly mated with had fallen in love with someone else, and… well, I think he just didn’t like Broken Heart. However, he had to drop in every now and again since the majority of the Consortium’s work was done here. He was a big man, a little overwhelming in both looks and nature. He seemed to have perfected the scowl, too.

Jessica waved at me, then continued to survey a deep gouge in her lawn. Curiosity got the better of me. I joined her and we studied the odd slash in her otherwise perfect yard. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Jess. “It looks like a monster comma. I mean, did God reach down with a giant finger and make a punctuation mark in my grass?”

“Perhaps Bryan… ?”

“He’s in Stillwater. He’s got a girlfriend, and he wanted to spend the weekend with her.” Her tone held both worry and pride. Bryan knew how to keep our secrets, so the worry must be related to the fact her son was grown and dating. She was proud of him for going to college, but I got the impression she wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Broken Heart had its own night school with one teacher, Eva O’Halloran. She was the town historian, and colibrarian of the substantial Consortium archives—duties that she shared with her husband, Lorcan (yes, that Lorcan). Since Broken Heart technically doesn’t exist, the Consortium set up an accredited online high school so children who graduate from their studies could attend college. Bryan had chosen to attend Oklahoma State University, OSU, and was working on a journalism degree.

“Jenny wants a Vespa,” said Jessica. Her gaze narrowed. “Does that look Vespa-like to you? Like maybe a girl who didn’t know what the hell she was doing on a freaking Vespa spun through a perfectly landscaped yard?”

I knew better than to answer such questions.

“She’s fourteen,” I said. “Too young to drive around a scooter.”

“She also has her stepfather wrapped around her pinky. And this is Broken Heart where rules for normal people don’t apply.” She rolled her eyes. Then she glanced at me. “Before I track down my family and solve the mystery of the lawn comma, tell me about the jaguar hottie.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that she already knew about Tez. The small-town grapevine worked even faster on a paranormal scale. I shrugged. “He was invited to town by the were-cat alpha.”

“Why?”

I blinked. I hadn’t even thought to ask Tez why he’d been invited. I had assumed he merely was interested in living among his own kind. But then, he hadn’t petitioned to live here. Hmm.

“I don’t know. But Tez was in the woods behind my house. He saved me from an attacker.”

“Attacker?” Jessica looked shocked. “Who the hell would want to hurt you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember much.”

“Wait. What were you doing out in the woods anyway?” She turned to fully face me, her expression filled with concern.

I felt like I’d entered the conversation at the wrong end. I started over, explaining everything from the moment I received the odd little box, to the ghostly attack, to the female voice urging me to go to the woods—less than an hour before dawn. “I found her grave,” I summed up. “And dug her up.”

Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “Holy freaking shit.”

“The bones are old,” I said. “Damian thinks someone buried a dead relative in the woods. Or perhaps I uncovered a family cemetery.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No,” I said reluctantly. “I have no proof. Just… feelings. I think she was murdered, Jess.”

“You gonna talk to Patsy?” She wiggled her fingers as if casting a spell. “She can kick any ghost’s ass.”

I hoped that was true. I wasn’t too thrilled about facing the entity again. Being attacked by something unseen was terrifying—even for a vampire.

“I’m definitely going to consult with Patsy. Right now, I need to meet up with Tez.”

“Tez. That’s his name?” asked Jessica. One eyebrow winged upward. “Seriously?”

I held up my palm. “Swear.”

“Mo chroi.”
Patrick hovered above us. Literally. As a vampire from the Family Ruadan, who were part Sidhe, or fairy, he had the ability to fly. He landed softly on the ground next to his wife.

“Elizabeth,” he said in his Irish-tinted voice. “How are you?”

“I’m very well,” I said. “And you?”

“I’m—” His words stalled as he looked at his wife. Jessica sent him a sizzling look of fury, and his gaze slid guiltily to the mark in the lawn.

“I’ll see you later,” I trilled. Then I hurried to my car.

When I arrived at the Old Sass Café, I found Tez ensconced in a booth with two vaguely familiar young women. Tez patted the seat next to him, his eyes gleaming. I had yet to determine what, exactly, made his eyes sparkle like that. Nothing good, I was sure. His werewolf-inflicted facial injuries had already healed. I slid in next to him, planting my large purse between us.

“Good evening,” I said to the ladies. “I’m Elizabeth Bretton.”

“Tawny,” said the red-haired vixen on the left. Her eyes glittered with challenge. She wore a low-cut blouse showing off perfect cleavage. She tossed a flirtatious grin at Tez. I slanted a look at him. He grinned. He was enjoying the attention. The man was such a… a hound. Oh, you know what I mean.

“I’m Serri,” said the woman on the right. She was a brunette with gorgeous caramel highlights and a green gaze that was much friendlier. “We heard about Tez’s arrival and couldn’t wait to meet him.”

“Turns out I’m very rare,” said Tez in a voice that was filled with innuendo.

I resisted the urge to kick him in the ankle. Did he have to sound so I’ll-eat-you-up-my-pretty?

“You should come meet the rest of the clan. After all, we”—Tawny tossed a glare in my direction—“are your kind.”

“We’ve never met a jaguar,” said Serri, sending her friend a cutting look. “As far as any of the clans are aware, the were-jags died out long ago.”

“Well, there was at least one around thirty-four years ago hanging out in the Mexican jungles,” said Tez.

“And he mated with a human female?” asked Serri. Her and Tawny’s expressions both held disbelief.

“Probably didn’t have much choice,” said Tez. “Especially if ol’ Pops was the last jag shifter.”

“Human and were-cat unions don’t usually produce offspring,” said Serri skeptically. “At least none that I’ve ever heard of.”