Fangs for Nothing (20 page)

“Geez. You’re probably right. Where did you see Benny?”

“Fahy’s. He asked about you, of course. Then he went and freaking told Lizette we’re vampires, and she freaked out and left and I don’t even know what hotel she’s staying in.” Johnny started walking back down the street, realizing he probably shouldn’t have left Raven alone in Stella and Wyatt’s place. Given their unexplained long-standing tension with the guitar player who played in a rival band to The Impalers, he wouldn’t put it past Raven to steal something. Like a bass guitar or an amp. Or Stella’s pants. The guy was known for wearing girls’ jeans. Gross. Johnny didn’t hate the guy, but he didn’t love him either. Sort of like his feelings on Benny.

“Oh, crap. Of course he did,” Stella moaned. “I wish I could take back that bite on Benny, but what’s done is done. Lizette will get over it, right? I mean, she’s not going to narc on us or anything.”

“I wouldn’t count on her keeping quiet. She’s a stickler.” Along with a few other sexier things he didn’t want to mention to Stella. “The thing is, she has a point. It’s probably not smart for us to be telling everyone we meet the truth. All it takes is one obsessive person and we have problems.”

“Wow. You don’t usually think about stuff like that.”

Well, maybe he was going to now. There had been a number of things during the course of the night that made him think maybe he needed to reevaluate his priorities. But he didn’t really want to discuss that with Stella over the phone. “Are you coming home?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. I just need to talk.” Now that sounded manly. Not.

“Okay.” Stella sounded mystified. “Be there in a minute.”

Johnny sighed and went back into the house that he had left wide open. “Raven?” he called. But when he got to the courtyard there was no sign of him, or in the house. “Whatever.”

He was sinking on the couch and flicking on the TV when Stella came in the front door. “Hey.”

“Hey. Where’s Wyatt?”

“He’s with Drake. So what’s going on with you? Two nights ago you were acting like Lizette was just some annoying person sent from Paris to mess with you.” Stella dropped her messenger bag on the coffee table, and then sat down next to it. “Then at the wedding you were dancing up a storm with her, and now you’re acting like your life is over because she left. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To get her out of your hair?”

She made it sound like he was a tool. “It’s not that simple. I mean, of course I wanted her to go away initially. She froze my bank account and wouldn’t let me in my apartment. But then we got drunk and woke up handcuffed together, and I don’t know, we had a good time together.” Both in clothes and out.

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is she left!”

“No, that is the consequence of the problem. Why did she leave?”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Because she thinks I’m an immature commitment-phobe.”

“She said that?” Stella asked in astonishment. “I mean, it’s true, but it was kind of rude to just throw it out there like that.”

“No, she didn’t put it like that. She said that I don’t know how to follow the rules or take things seriously, that I don’t take responsibility for my actions. She’s pissed about Benny knowing the truth about us.” He put his feet on the coffee table and sulked.

“Well, what is it you want?”

That was easy. “I want to get to know her better, but it scares me. I’ll never be good enough for her and I can’t promise that I can handle eternity without fucking it up.”

His sister stared at him so long he wanted to throw a pillow at her. “What?”

“I’m just trying to reconcile the fact that you clearly dig this woman enough to want to attempt a genuine relationship. After one night. I don’t think that’s ever happened to you before.”

Yeah, well. Maybe because it
sucked
.

“I guess it had to happen sooner or later.”

“The thing is, Johnny, why do you always look at every woman and think it has to be either a hookup or eternity? Why can’t there be an in-between?”

That was a good question. One he had honestly never asked himself. “I don’t know. I guess because it seems like, being a vampire, a relationship is going to go on for a really long time. That’s intense.”

“There is such a thing as just dating, getting to know each other. Having fun, being monogamous, but not getting married.”

“I suppose some people do that.” But it seemed like for most people it was hard to stay content in that middle ground. “But Lizette was with some guy for a hundred years. That’s only a couple of years less than I’ve been alive. She can commit the shit out of a relationship. How can I compete with that?”

“You’re assuming that she wants another few centuries with someone. Maybe she would like to just ease into it this time around.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He felt more mature already. Look at how easily he had admitted his sister could be right. “But none of it really matters. She’s going back to Oh La La Land and that will be the end of it.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to give up?” Her expression was one of clear disapproval.

“What am I supposed to do? Chase her down? Tackle her?” His handcuffs rattled as he asked the question, waving his hand around.

“You could start by getting your name taken off the Dead List. Do everything she wanted you to without prompting from her. Find out what really happened last night. I have a feeling she’s the kind of woman who will appreciate the truth, even if it’s unpleasant.”

“You’re right.” Stella was right. There it was again. He tried to shake the feeling of melancholy. “Man, this is hard work. It was easier to fake my death.”

“Keep that up and I’ll arrange for your real death.”

He didn’t believe her for one second.

He did, however, believe that if he wasn’t careful, Lizette might decide to keep him on the Dead List after all.

In fact, she just might put the whole lot of them on the list.

Then none of them would exist.

Which would be a problem.

Chapter Sixteen

PARTY OF FIVE

J
OSIE
Lynn knew she should have been totally mortified to walk out of a bedroom where she’d just made love to a man she barely knew in the bed of a couple she knew even less, but aside from being a little sheepish, she simply felt good.

Okay,
good
was an understatement. She felt amazing, giddy, like she was walking on air. She knew that by all appearances she’d just found herself involved with a man who was the stereotype of all things she’d sworn to herself she’d avoid. Sexy, too charming for his own good, wicked in bed, and a Bourbon Street guitarist to boot. But she found herself trusting him.

Her—trusting a man. She never thought she’d say that. Or at least not for a good long time. But something about Drake made her believe.

She followed Drake out of his roommates’ room and across the hallway to his room. They’d been so close to making love in the right room, she smiled to herself at the ludicrousness of what they’d just done. The liberating wildness and excitement of what they’d done. She hadn’t felt this free and happy in months—honestly, maybe not for years.

“Are you okay?” Drake asked as he crossed his room, which now that she was in, she could tell was his. It was as rakish as he was, with a huge burgundy velvet canopied bed covered in black silk sheets and tons of pillows. A guitar lay on the bed. And he had two armoires that looked expensive and antique. Like the bed.

“I’m great,” she assured him, stepping farther into the room as he went straight to one of the armoires. While he looked for clothes, she wandered around, running her hands over his finely made furniture, torn between admiring that and Drake’s finely made rear end.

“All of this furniture looks old,” she said.

He gave the room a cursory glance, then returned to rummaging through his clothing. “It is. Most of it has been in my family for years.”

She touched the velvet of the bed’s canopy. There was an almost otherworldliness to the pieces. Like it all came from another time, which of course it had. But she was also reminded of how Drake could have moments where he seemed like he came from another time, too. There was a gallantness to him. And a strangely proper way of talking. And even when they’d been having sex up against a door, she sensed something almost proper—or elegant—or something, about him.

Maybe she’d just never met anyone like him before. She glanced over at him, standing there totally naked, still managing to look regal.

No, she’d definitely never met anyone like him before. Katie and Stella said he’d come from a privileged background. For a moment, a rush of insecurity filled her. What did she know about privilege? Nothing. She was just a bayou girl trying to make something of herself. And failing thus far.

“You are looking far too serious to be feeling great,” Drake said, pulling her out of her reverie.

She smiled, although some of her giddiness tamped down a bit. “I was just thinking about finding out what happened last night.”

That was sort of true.

“Right,” he agreed, pulling out a pair of jeans and a black shirt. “We need to get back to work finding those Chers.” He tossed his clothes on the bed, eyeing it. “Or we could just stay here a little longer.”

Josie Lynn genuinely laughed at the naughty glint in his dark eyes. “I think we’d better behave for just a little while.”

He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. “Okay, super sleuth, but promise me you’ll come back here with me after we are done. Because, my love, I am not done with you.”

She smiled, but her heart seemed to beat both with joy and pain. She didn’t want him to ever be done with her. But it was far too soon to make admissions like that. She did know enough about men to know talking commitment too soon was a surefire way to send them running for the hills. Or in her experience, another woman.

“I’d love to come back,” she said, keeping her tone light and flirty. Even as that bittersweet pain filled her chest again.

Drake kissed her, then returned to getting dressed.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she told him, pointing to the door, feeling the need to get herself together a little. She was sure she looked like—well, like she’d just had the best sex of her life, which was great for her mood, but probably not so great for her hair and clothing.

“Beware the bird.”

She shuddered. “That’s not even funny.” She poked her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear.

“You’ll take on a gator, but a parrot scares you.” Drake chuckled.

She made a face at him, then stepped into the hallway. She could hear Cort and Wyatt in the living room. They seemed to be discussing where to find the person who owned the parrot, or at least that’s what she thought.

She started to head toward the bathroom but changed her mind. Between the two glasses of wine and crazed lovemaking, she was beyond parched, and the refrigerator stood out like a beacon. Cold water. Yeah, that’s what she needed.

She tiptoed to the kitchen, mainly to avoid the attention of the bird rather than Drake’s bandmates. She opened the fridge to find it empty except for a six-pack of beer, a bottle of vodka and large blue Tupperware pitcher. Water? Juice? At this point, she didn’t care, she just wanted something cold.

She pulled out the pitcher and set it on the counter, then she opened the first cupboard next to the fridge. It was empty.

That’s weird. It seemed as if Drake and Cort and Katie had lived here for quite some time. Although she didn’t exactly recall Drake saying that. She guessed she’d just assumed they had from the way Katie and Drake had been teasing each other about his frequent nudity. That seemed like the kind of joke old roommates would share.

She moved to the next cupboard, which was also empty. Finally, at the last cupboard, she found glasses. And only glasses. Regular drinking glasses, wine goblets, beer mugs.

Okay, these guys must definitely eat out a lot.

She reached for a plain juice glass and returned to the pitcher. Just as she lifted it, to start pouring a drink, she heard the loud flap of wings and a high-pitched caw.

“Jack and coke. Jack and coke.”

She instantly jumped and screamed, both the pitcher and the glass crashing to the floor.

She spun to see where the parrot was, terrified it was near her. She located the red bird perched on the top of the refrigerator, regarding her with unblinking, beady eyes. Evil eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Josie Lynn looked away from the bird to find both Cort and Wyatt in the kitchen doorway.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she managed, casting another wary look toward the bird. “The bird startled me. And—and I kind of made a mess.”

She looked down, then blinked. The drinking glass had broken, and whatever had been in the pitcher had splattered all over her bare legs and the floor. And it definitely wasn’t water, and it didn’t look like juice either. Whatever it was looked dark red and viscous. Like blood.

“That fuckin’ bird,” Cort muttered, walking farther into the room. He held out his arm, and Josie Lynn flinched as the bird spread its wings—huge wings, as far as she was concerned—and flew down to land on Cort’s upper arm.

“He is pretty much a drunken jerk,” Cort told her, “but overall, he’s harmless.”

The bird waddled up Cort’s arm and proceeded to bite his ear.

“Ouch, damn it! Okay, let me amend that,” Cort said, still wincing from the bite. “He’s mostly harmless to everyone else, but for some reason, he has a love/hate thing going on with me.”

“I can see that,” Josie Lynn said, though now her attention had gone from the bird to the stuff spilled all around her. What the hell was that?

“Here,” Wyatt said, hurrying over to her. “Let me clean that up. Don’t you even worry about it.”

He placed a hand on her back and arm to usher her away from the mess. She kept looking down. That wasn’t juice. It beaded down her bare legs, reminding her of times she’d cut herself shaving.

You are standing in blood,
she thought. Even the way her footprints looked on the floor pooled and congealed like bloody imprints.

But it can’t be blood. Why would they have blood? In a pitcher? In their fridge?

“What happened?” Drake came rushing into the room, his jeans on, but unbuttoned, and his shirt in his hand. He looked down at the floor and at Josie Lynn, and she could have sworn he saw a flash of dread before he masked it behind a look of concern.

“Are you okay?”

Josie Lynn nodded, even though she felt more confused than okay.

“I’m going to clean this up,” Wyatt repeated. “Why don’t you take her to the bathroom so she can wash up?”

Drake nodded, placing an arm around her and leading her down the hall. Again she had the feeling they all just wanted to get her away from whatever was splattered everywhere.

“You didn’t get cut, did you?” Drake asked as he led her into the bathroom and turned on the faucet in the tub.

“I don’t think so.” But how would she know? Her legs and feet looked like Carrie at the prom.

He urged her over to the tub and had her sit down on the edge, then he tested the water.

“It feels warm enough. Go ahead and put your legs in.” He turned to grab her a washcloth from the rack by the sink.

She did as he said, as if in a daze.

He sat down beside her and began mopping the sticky redness from her pale skin.

“What is this stuff?” she asked, her voice quiet, not sure she really wanted to know.

Drake shook his head, giving her a bewildered look of his own. “Some gross protein shake that Cort drinks. I think it’s whey and pomegranate or acai berry or whatever is hip with health nuts at the moment. It’s disgusting. I think he bought it through Amway.”

Josie Lynn stared down at her legs as the redness rinsed away, turning the water pink, then swirled down the drain.

A protein drink. Pomegranate. That certainly made more sense than blood.

“You finish washing off, and I’ll grab you something to wear.”

She nodded, accepting the washcloth.

He stood and headed out of the room. Josie Lynn rewetted the washcloth and swiped it down her leg, most of the mess already gone. A glob of the stuff still clung to her inner thigh, and for a moment, she considered dabbing her finger in it and tasting it. But instead she wiped the spot away with the damp cloth.

She finished up and reached for a dry towel. After she patted all the water from her legs, she hung the towels over the shower rod and headed toward Drake’s room.

“Damn, that was close,” she heard Wyatt say from the kitchen.

“Yeah, that could have been bad,” Cort said.

“Jack and coke. Jack and coke.”

“Okay, I hear you, Winston. Man, this bird has a serious problem.”

What did they mean
that was close?
And it
could have been bad?
Then she decided she was clearly making far too much of nothing. Cort and Wyatt could be referring to anything. After all, they were also talking about what appeared to be an alcoholic bird.

“Hey,” Drake greeted her from his doorway. “I found a shirt for you. You’ll probably have to make it into a dress again. But you seem to have a knack for that.”

She smiled at him, deciding to let the past fifteen minutes go. What did she know about Amway protein drinks? They probably all looked like blood for all she knew.

She went into his room and quickly dressed using Zelda’s belt to cinch this shirt, a sort-of-retro paisley shirt in greens and blues.

“Wow,” Drake said, when she walked into the kitchen, which was now spotless. “I gotta say, I like this look even more than the pirate shirt.”

“I think the pirate shirt might be ruined,” she admitted. “I think pomegranate stains.”

“Thank God,” Drake said.

She laughed, knowing he truly hated that shirt, at least on himself. “I have to admit you look a lot better, too.” She admired the way his jeans clung to his narrow hips and his black shirt fit his broad shoulders.

“Are you saying plastic turquoise isn’t me?”

“You were actually sort of rocking them,” she said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled. She loved his husky, rich laugh.

“Ready to go find some Chers?”

She nodded and was pleased when he took her hand. Damn, this night had really gone far differently than she imagined it was going to.

“Where did Cort and Wyatt go?” she asked as they left the apartment.

“They went to meet up with Stella and Katie and to get that damn bird a drink before it pecked Cort’s eyes out.”

Of course, she thought wryly. What a night indeed.

“They are going to meet us at Queen Mary’s. I figured if we’re going to confront a gang of Chers, we better have the numbers going in.”

“Good call,” Josie Lynn agreed, and they shared a smile.

It was funny. She still needed to find out what happened to save her business reputation and to make sure that Zelda and Saxon didn’t somehow blame her for the bizarre outcome of their wedding, but she didn’t feel nearly so stressed about the whole thing. Maybe because she now knew Drake believed she wasn’t involved.

“Thank you,” she said to him as they walked down Toulouse toward Royal.

“For what?” He gave her a cutely puzzled look.

“For believing me.”

She didn’t need to explain any further. He squeezed her hand.

“And you can always trust me.”

And amazingly, she believed him.

* * *

“ARE YOU JUST
going to pretend that nothing happened?” Dieter said.

Lizette carefully studied her magazine on the plane and didn’t look at her assistant, who had been studying her far too intently for the last several hours. “Yes.”

“That’s not emotionally healthy, you know.”

She paused on a Chanel ad, wishing beyond anything that Dieter would just drop it. “I wasn’t aware you are a therapist.”

“How about I am just your friend?”

That guilted her into looking up. She sighed. “I appreciate that, thank you. But the last few nights have been challenging for me. It’s very disturbing to wake up and not remember what you did or where you went. I never want that to happen again.”