Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) (18 page)
Read Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) Online
Authors: Sloan Archer
“Yes, it does pose a slight problem, but it doesn’t make things impossible. We can easily work around that.” Robert’s smile was faint as he added, “Besides, I can’t believe that any vampire who has your blood will become human forever, or else that would mean that there’s no hope of me ever changing back. I’m sure a cure will be found.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Is there a way that a vampire can change me without having to drink my blood first?”
Robert shook his head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”
“Right, right. They drink my blood and then I drink theirs. Then—
boom
—vampire.”
“The transition isn’t as smooth as that, but you have the general idea.” Robert curled his arm around my waist. He paused, his words held back by his tongue. Finally he said, “Changing over isn’t pleasant.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do. The pain is unspeakable.
Indescribable
. You will suffer, Mercy.
A lot
.”
“That’s life, I guess. I’d suffer a lot more if the VGO killed me.”
Robert’s smile was gorgeous and lopsided when he agreed, “Good point. That’s my Mercy, so positive, even during times of grave duress.”
“You can put that on my tombstone, if the VGO
do
murder me,” I said. “Here lies the body of Mercy Montgomery: A positive woman, even during times of grave duress.”
Robert laughed.
“I’m glad Leopold can’t be the one to turn me.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s gross when you think about it. It’s like . . .
eww
.”
“I’m afraid ‘it’s like
eww
’ hasn’t cleared much up,” Robert said.
“In a way, he’s kind of your father, right? If he changed me, he’d be my father, too, which would make you my brother.”
“Vampirism doesn’t work that way. But I can see your position. It is a bit . . .”
“Eww.”
“Yes, okay.
Eww
.”
I couldn’t help cracking up. It was amusing to hear Robert, so old timey and proper, using slang. I nearly died the first time he sent me a LOL text. Yes, the sophistication of Mercy Montgomery knew no bounds. Robert had bestowed to me a world of history, over a century and a half of it—customs one could only be privy to if they witnessed them firsthand. In return, I’d bequeathed Robert such vernacular nuggets as
LOL
,
WTF
, and
Oh snap!
What can I say? I was doing my part to keep my lovely man modern.
“So now what?” I asked.
“So now this: Leopold is going to help us.”
“But I thought you said—”
“He’s not going to help us by turning you,” Robert said, shaking his head. “But he is going to find us a vampire who will. I didn’t want to mention it before because I didn’t want you to give up hope, but Leopold and I have already discussed this scenario.”
“You have? But what if Leopold doesn’t know anyone?”
“Mercy, Leopold had a waiting list of thousands who wanted his serum. I think the question is: Which vampire do you want to change you?”
“Okay, then, we’ve got ourselves a plan. What now?”
“Emails.”
“Won’t it be dangerous to do that—send emails?” I asked. “What if they track us?”
“They’d track us faster if we used phones. I’m going to save our one phone call to contact Leopold once he finds someone. Remember, Leopold doesn’t know where we are on the island.”
“Right. I keep forgetting that.” Robert and I believed it would be safer for everyone if we kept our hiding location a secret. Liz and Leopold didn’t know our travel aliases, either, which was uncomforting. If the VGO
did
succeed in making us disappear, nobody we knew would have the slightest idea who to look for.
Robert said, “For the time being, we’ll just have to take our chances with emails. We don’t really have another choice, do we?”
No, we didn’t.
And so Robert and I spent the days following in Internet cafes, sending and receiving emails. Prior to leaving London, we’d concocted absurd email names as a precaution (mine: [email protected], Robert’s: [email protected]). We were fairly certain, however, that our efforts to remain digitally anonymous were in vain. The VGO were unquestionably monitoring the phones and email accounts of those closest to us. We figured that using our bogus emails might at least slow the VGO down in their search. But Robert and I were realistic: We couldn’t hide forever. We’d also taken with us one disposable cellphone, which we left powered off. The plan was to use it one time and then throw it away, should we need it.
Fearful that we’d be recognized, Robert and I continued skipping around the island after we sent emails: Kuta, bustling with Australian surfers in Bintang tank tops and sunburned Europeans sporting fresh cornrows; Ulu Watu, celebrated for big waves, lush greenery, and smiling schoolchildren; Nusa Dua, posh and manicured; Ubud, mystical and ancient.
We tried to blend in as much as possible, changing our clothing and mannerisms to pose as backpackers, beach bums and, my favorite, granola nature enthusiasts. (It was an alias where I got to realize my own personal hell of wearing socks with sandals in thousand-degree humidity.) It was easy to move around because of how accommodating to tourists Bali was, and the locals didn’t tend to pry much beyond asking us how we were enjoying our honeymoon.
I tried to enjoy myself like I was on an actual honeymoon, but receiving word from home brought me back in time to my final months at Dewhurst. I remembered the oppressive fear I’d felt while opening letters at the mailbox, the certainty of threats and bad news, and my unyielding shame. I lived under a constant cloud of sorrow back then, spending most days feeling hopeless and depressed, an inadequate excuse for an adult. I’d been cheated on by my ex and had no money to pay bills, issues that had been
so devastating
at the time.
Now such matters seemed trivial.
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Update
Merc,
I don’t know where you are, but I hope you’re safe and well. I miss you tons. Please, please take care of yourself. I worry about you!
I have news for you. Some of it’s REALLY good and the rest is bad. Like, insanely bad. (But don’t go skipping ahead—you’re going to want to read this whole email.)
I’ll give you the good news first. David woke from his coma at ten this evening! He was groggy and still in a lot of pain, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. He felt well enough to pretend that he didn’t remember me when he woke up, so I’ll take that as a positive sign. (Though I could have killed him for giving me such a scare! Who does that?!) Now David is pressing me harder than ever to change back into what I used to be. David thinks we’ll be safer if I’m “more like my old self” again. I don’t think he’s going to let this go, which worries me because I’m extremely happy with who I currently am . . .
But I’m not contacting you to discuss my relationship issues. Maybe I’m stalling here, since I know how much you’re going to lose it when I tell you this next bit.
Are you sitting down?
Mathew—yes,
that
Mathew, your shit-brained ex—was with the group who broke into Robert’s place. I only know what David has told me, and David only knows as much as he heard while they were beating him to a bloody pulp.
Apparently, Mathew is working with
them.
You know who
they
are: the ones hunting you.
Can you believe that shithead?
David said Mathew broke in with the rest of the thugs who were looking for you, but for some weird reason Mathew was under the impression that they were going after Robert, not you. Once he realized Robert wasn’t there, he started ransacking the house—going through drawers and whatnot. (David didn’t think that Mathew was stealing anything, but was sort of snooping around for information.) That’s what Mathew was doing when they started beating David.
When Mathew realized what those goons were doing to David, he came out from the back of the house and yelled for them to stop. I’m not telling you this to make a hero out of Mathew—trust me, I hate him more than ever—but because that’s how David found out the extent of Mathew’s involvement.
Before you ask, yes we’ve contacted the police. They went to Mathew’s, but the little weasel dick has left town.
Not that you’d have any need to talk to Mathew, but I wanted to warn you not to trust him (as if you would) in case he gets in contact. Don’t give him any indication where you are (again, as if you would). Who knows what he’s telling them? Hopefully, he didn’t find anything too important while he was going through your drawers—you know the freak probably took a couple sniffs of your panties.
God, I hate him. What I can’t figure out is
why
Mathew would do such a thing. He’s always been an asshole, but this? Really? He’s lost his mind. Or taken up smoking crack. Seriously, WTF?
Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. Please take care of yourself. This will all work itself out.
Hang in there.
Liz
XOXOXO
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
You douchebag!
Mathew,
My hands are shaking so much right now that I can hardly type, but I’m sure if I focus on my hatred for you, I’ll be able to pull through.
Guess what, asshole? David woke up. In the hospital. Where YOU helped put him.
How could you? Seriously, what the holy fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to David and Liz? And me?
And you went through my things, you stalker? What were you hoping to find, some kind of proof that I’m still in love with you? You’re crazier than I thought if that’s the case.
I guess I wasn’t clear enough the first ten thousand times, so let me put it in writing for you:
I WANT YOU OUT OF MY LIFE.
FOREVER.
YOU AND I WILL
NEVER
EVER
(TIMES INFINITY)
BE A COUPLE AGAIN.
I DO
NOT
LOVE YOU.
NOT AT ALL!
Am I making myself clear?
If those you’re helping don’t murder you first, I hope the police find whatever rock you’ve crawled under to hide out like a coward. I hope they lock you up and throw away the key. You don’t deserve to be a part of the human race.
If I ever see you again, it will be too soon.
—M
P.S. Go fuck yourself.
P.P.S. And use hot sauce as lubricant.
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Let’s try this again.
Mathew,
Now that I’ve had a few minutes to calm down, I’ve realized that nothing good can be accomplished through losing my temper. I was serious about us never being a couple again, but I feel I should clarify a few other things.
I don’t know what you’ve learned about Robert’s history, or why you are concerned with him at all since he has absolutely no bearing on your life, but you need to know about the group you’re working for.
They are dangerous, Mathew. Whatever you think you’re involved in, you don’t know the half of it. Whatever they’re promising you—it’s a lie. When they are finished using you, they will make you disappear.
You are mistaken if you think that they are after Robert. They don’t care about him, and you shouldn’t either. They are after me, Mathew. They want me dead. They are currently trying to find me so they can kill me.
Any information you provide could help them find me, which will lead to my death. Is that what you want, to live with my murder on your conscience?
Please stop helping them. If any part of you still cares about me, you’ll turn your back on all this business.
Get out while you can.
—M
