Fashionably Dead (26 page)

“Ethan,” I gasped.

“Yes, Angel?”

“You’re supposed to be on the other side of the room.” I grabbed his shoulders so I didn’t drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“I was being a gentleman,” he whispered into my ear as two fingers slipped inside me.

“Oh God,” I moaned, pushing my body further down on his hand. “How is this being a gentleman?”

“You tripped and I caught you,” he said. He lifted me up with his unencumbered hand and took me to the bed.

“You’re not playing fair,” I cried, trying unsuccessfully to calm my writhing hips.

“All’s fair in love and war,” he ground out as he captured my mouth with his, making any further protest impossible. His lips and fangs moved to my neck. His tongue played with my veins and I shuddered. His hand was moving like a high-speed vibrator and I shrieked. I was spiraling out of control, and I loved every second. I bucked on his hand like a champion bull rider and I had absolutely no control of the screams leaving my body.

“Oh my God, Angel,” he whispered against my ear, “I have never wanted something so badly in my life. You belong to me, to no one else. Mine.”

How in the hell did it feel like he had ten hands? Every inch of my body was a live wire ready to explode. My core was literally throbbing and words were replaced by screams and moans. He buried his fangs in my neck at the same time that he pressed down on my clit with the heel of his hand.

I detonated.

I vaguely heard him chuckle right before he sank his fangs into my nipple.

I cried out from the burning pain of his bite and tried to jerk away, but he held me fast. He drank from me while he plunged his fingers in and out of me. I thought I was done, but he had other plans. My body tightened to the point of pain and gripped his fingers like a vise. The rhythm of my hips increased to a frantic pace and I screamed over and over again as my world exploded into the loudest, most earth-shattering orgasm I’d ever had. My voice was raw and hoarse. I was sure speaking would be gone from my skill set permanently. Ethan held me and kissed me all over as I came down from my second orgasm in less than ten minutes.

“Oh my God,” I whispered with what voice I had left, “that was . . . ”

“Amazing.”

“Um, yeah,” I giggled.

“My Angel,” he smiled, brushing my wild hair out of my face, “I am amazed by you. You are everything I want and more. I have waited so long for you.”

“Ethan . . . ” I looked down. I knew if I looked into his eyes he would know I was lying. “I don’t want to mate with you.”

He went as still as a statue. “Look at me.”

I refused.

“Look at me,” he repeated harshly.

“I can’t,” I said, trying to get off the bed but he pulled me close and held me still. Where in the hell did all my super Vampyre strength go? I supposed I would have to admit he was stronger than me.

“Angel, I know what happened during training today,” he said quietly.

“Then you know why I can’t mate with you.”

“When I first drank from you, I knew who you were and what you were and what the risks were. I have no regrets, nor will I. Ever. You belong to me. You are mine and I will be yours.” His golden eyes searched my face and his thumb gently traced my cheekbone.

“Ethan . . . I . . . ”

“Stop,” he commanded. “If you can tell me you don’t want me and have no desire to become part of me, then I will leave you alone. Forever. Can you tell me you don’t want me?”

He waited.

“No,” I whispered, “I can’t tell you that.”

“I thought not,” he said smugly. “So I will wait for you. You’ll come to me when you are ready. But make no mistake, Astrid, you will come.”

“I kind of already did,” I muttered, looking away. “Ethan, it seems like you got the raw end of the deal.” I’d just had several massive orgasms and he’d had . . . um, none.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he laughed. His eyes flashed and turned back to a brilliant emerald green. “But we’ll take care of my end of the deal when you come to me willingly, with no reservations about how you feel about me. When you agree to be my mate.”

“Are you sure?” I asked as I ran my hand over some very hard evidence. “I am quite willing.”

He removed my hand and rolled off the bed. “I will have you,” he said, “and when I do, it will be because you are mine. Forever.”

With that remark he left the room, shutting the door behind him. I heard him laughing joyfully as he went down the hall. I was grinning from ear to ear. God, I adored that beautiful, conceited asshole. I might even love . . .

Stop. Don’t go there. Do not fall in love with him.
He didn’t love me, he just wanted me. I quickly yanked on my dress and decided to go commando because the panties were toast.

“How ya doin’?” Venus grinned as she came back into her room. “I certainly hope you changed my sheets.”

“Oh my God, Venus,” I burst out, “we did not do that.”

“Uh huh,” she smirked.

“We. Did. Not. Do. It.” I insisted and she snickered. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Well,” she began, enjoying herself immensely, “your dress is on backwards, everyone in the entire mansion heard you screaming, and I just passed the Prince in the hall looking like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Oh shit.” I ungracefully righted my dress and slipped my feet into my sparkly beaded silver flip flops that thankfully weren’t destroyed during my training ordeal. How was I going to face anybody here ever again?

“It gets worse,” Venus said, trying not to laugh.

“How in the hell can it get any worse?” I hissed. All I seemed to do in front of my Cressida brothers and sisters was have really loud screaming orgasms with their Prince. First my initiation—now this.

“The King and his entourage arrived about a half hour ago,” she said. I was speechless. This was a bad, bad, bad day. My potential father-in-law heard me screaming like a porn star angling for an award. “Ethan is with his father now,” Venus said.

“You’re joking.” I felt sick.

“Astrid,” Venus said, recognizing the symptoms of my impending panic attack. “Vampyres aren’t uptight about sex like mortals. It’s very natural for us. We’re very sexual beings.”

“I didn’t have sex with him,” I yelled.

“Then I’d hate to be within earshot when you finally do have sex,” she laughed.

“He won’t have sex with me until I mate with him,” I said, peeking into my dress at my breast to see if he’d left puncture marks. Nope, all clear.

“Are you serious?” Venus was shocked.

“Yep . . . as a heart attack.”

“What will you do?”

“I have no idea. I do know that I’m not walking out of this room and risking a meeting with the King,” I said. “I’d rather go to a tanning bed.”

Venus laughed, zipped up my dress and smacked me on the butt. “I would suggest you get moving then, because I can hear some Vamps headed this way to retrieve your sorry, screaming ass to present you to the King.”

“See ya,” I said, flinging my arms out and creating a glistening wall of glitter dust around me. I felt the Magic envelope me . . . and I disappeared.

Chapter 24

“Brad Pitt called,” Gemma said, channel surfing.

I grabbed the mail and flipped through it. Nothing but bills and junk mail

“Again?” I was disgusted. This was the fifth time Brad called today.

“He’s not going to stop until you call him back,” she laughed.

“Oh. My. God.” I yelled, “I’m so not in the mood to deal with Brad Pitt today.”

I was still trying, without much success, to block out my scream-a-thon at the Cressida House. I hadn’t even told Gemma about it. Speaking of it aloud would somehow make it more real.

“How about Angelina?” she asked, ducking to avoid the pillow I threw at her.

“She called too?” I couldn’t believe this. What kind of evil had I done in my past to deserve this?

“Three times.” Gemma bit her lip to stifle her laughter. Why she derived such pleasure from my pain was beyond me.

“Fine.” I stomped my foot like a preschooler. “I’ll just go down there and put a stop to all this bullshit.”

“Go get ‘em, killer,” Gemma laughed, and ran from the room before I could find something else to throw at her.

***

Why in the hell was Brad Pitt so insistent on seeing me, and why was Angelina involved? Something didn’t add up here.

He’d already informed me of my mother’s unfortunate demise in an explosive private plane crash. No survivors. No remains. Huh . . . that was convenient. For the life or death of me, I would always wonder how she made that work out. I suppose if you’re married to or screwing a Demon, you can make almost anything happen and make anyone believe it.

I had a whopper of a headache. I thought Vampyres were immune to human ailments like headaches. Some were. Obviously, I wasn’t. My headache was named Brad Pitt and it was hitting me right between the eyeballs. Why, you may ask, would anyone in their right mind be angry that Brad Pitt was calling? I mean, come on, everybody wants them a little Brad Pitt . . . right?

Wrong! He wasn’t
the Brad Pitt
, just
a Brad Pitt
. That’s right, Brad Pitt from Bowling Green, Kentucky. He was a good ol’ boy, ambulance-chasing lawyer with a severely receding hairline, greasy comb-over, beer gut, and bifocals, who happened to share a name with a really good-looking movie star.

He believed the similarities went beyond the name. Clearly he drank. Staggering as it may be, he thought he was sexy and interesting and that every woman in town secretly wanted him. He was wrong. Nobody in town wanted him, including his wife, Angelina.

That right there was one of the most alarming parts of the story. He had married a rather large balding gal named Tammy Sue Jinkers, but had made her legally change her name to Angelina Jinkers. Her entire family balked when Brad tried to persuade all of them to switch to their surname to Jolie.

She was a hoot, and if you listened to gossip, pretty loosey-goosey. Legend had it, with a few drinks in her, she’d go home with anything that could walk and had dangly parts. Six months ago at the Bingo Marathon, she had a few too many and informed all within earshot that Brad wore her panties and liked to be spanked. There was so much wrong with that I couldn’t even begin to dissect it.

When they had first moved to town four years ago there was mass hysteria. All the townsfolk showed up bearing gifts and casseroles for Brad and Angie and their brood of children. All the local news stations came down, and by God our little local paper was there to cover the happening. Lexington and Louisville even sent crews down to our little podunk municipality. Then Brad and Angelina arrived, and boy, were people pissed.

I didn’t see it, but legend had it that Martha and Jane threw casseroles at them, they were so furious. Knowing the old biddies, I was apt to believe that story was true. I felt sorry for our new neighbors until I found out the fake Brad Pitt planted all the stories that led us s
tupidly
to believe the real Brad Pitt was moving here. Gemma read that the real Brad Pitt had finally had to take out a restraining order on our big, fat, greasy Brad Pitt. She also said that our local Brad Pitt’s aura labeled him as very untrustworthy and downright skeevey.

His ego was as big as his gut, and his gut was big. He was a lardass lawyer, and of course Petra had retained his services. I was sure she got a good laugh knowing I’d have to deal with him, his bad breath and his wandering hands after her death.

Brad Pitt’s office space hadn’t been updated since the 1980s. Due to my super keen sense of smell I detected Taco Bell, B.O., Old Spice aftershave and bad breath.

To my great surprise and horror, Martha and Jane were Brad Pitt’s new receptionists.

“If you don’t have an appointment, Astrid,” Martha snapped, “Mr. Pitt won’t be able to see you.”

“Free health care for everyone,” Jane grunted and then slammed her own head down on the reception desk.

“I’m sorry, what?” I grinned, sure that I had misheard.

“Jesus wears a thong,” Martha hissed and turned a shade of red I’d never seen.

Holy shit, had Paris Hilton already gotten to them? This was awesome.

“Moses liked sheep,” Jane screeched. Martha slapped her and stuffed a wad of paper in her mouth.

“Equal rights for gays,” Martha moaned. “All the rich people should give all their money to the poor, and Jesus ate pork in a tube top.” She threw herself to the floor and yanked on her own hair.

Jane fell on top of Martha and proceeded to spew liberal and sacrilegious nuggets of wisdom.

“Well, hidey hodey ho, Astrid,” Brad Pitt yelled from his office doorway. “You are lookin’ miiiiighty fiiiine today, girly girl.”

“Thank you, Brad,” I said with disgust. “Why in the hell do you keep calling my house?”

“Well, little darlin’, why dontcha come on into mah office and we can have a little chitty-chat,” he leered.

God, he was foul . . . so foul that he actually gave me a tremendous idea. I should use some of my powers for the good of mankind. Shouldn’t I? Yes . . . yes, I should.