Jaz Parks 5 - One More Bite

“Don’t ever die.”

He raised his hand, slid it around my neck, his thumb brushing up under my chin as he leaned in to nuzzle my bottom lip. “I shall live forever, if that is your wish.”

“It’s a start.” I plastered myself against him, marveling at how well we fit together, wrapping my arms around him so tight I’d have worried about crushing some ribs if he hadn’t been Vampere.

When he opened his lips, I gave him the kiss that had been building in me since the last time. Hot-breathed, lips and tongue, clinging bodies that couldn’t wait to move on, dammit!

I moaned when Vayl lifted his head. “Don’t stop.”

>“No, not okay. The woman’s dead, for chrissake. And you’re standing there spitting on her grave. She was a good mother to you—”

“No. Not even close.” I strode toward the bed, each step fueling my rage. I sat on the edge beside him so the lamplight caught me at the edge of its glow. “You wouldn’t know, because you were gone. Always off defending the country when you should’ve been protecting me.” The last came out like I’d shoved it through a grater, shredded and somewhat battered.

Before he could demand to know what I meant, I tore off my jacket, yanked my shirtsleeve up over my shoulder, and revealed the inside of my upper arm. The part that hardly ever shows. Unless you hold up your hand to answer a question in class. I’d learned never to do that.

“What the hell are these?” Albert demanded, brushing his thumb against eight separate raised circles marring the smooth pale skin that comes naturally to us redheads. “Are they scars?”

“Geez, Dad, lemme think. Was I born with these marks? I mean, I know you were gone a lot, but surely you would’ve noticed this kind of disfigurement on an infant.”

He clamped his jaw shut and yanked me toward him. “Who did this to you? Tell me right now. And be honest, or else—”

“Or else what?”

“I might kill the wrong man.” Watching the color rush to fill his face once again, I thought, He didn’t know. All these years I thought he had to. How could he not? But it was like he’d leased his brain to the military and all we got was sloppy seconds. Which is okay for some things. But not so great when Dad’s oblivious to festering sores on your arm. And in your family.

“It wasn’t a man,” I said. “It was your wife. With a cigarette. Anytime one of us caused her to lose it.”

Albert’s eyes went back to my arm and he began to shake his head. Of course he wouldn’t believe me. She’d said he wouldn’t. I was ready for a big, fat denial. But all he said was “It sounds to me like you took the punishment for everybody.”

I nodded. “Evie only made her that mad once, and though I was only nine at the time, I knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it. A couple of the others are Dave’s, but the rest are mine.” I watched him worry at those marks, as if he could somehow erase them if he brushed his fingers across them enough times. When he still didn’t respond I said, “I guess I could’ve done what Dave and Evie did. Learn to read her moods. Figure out when to keep my mouth shut.”

Still not meeting my eyes he asked, “What did you do?”

I shrugged. “By the time I was twelve I’d grown taller and tougher than her. One day she came after me with that goddamned cigarette and I beat the crap out of her.”

I tried to pull my arm from his hand, to wrap it around my stomach as it lurched at that awful memory. The knowledge that I’d done what a daughter never should. Forced into it by a mother who’d broken her trust. The worst part—Evie crying. Screaming really. Begging me not to kill her mommy. It was the first time in my life that I’d understood what I was capable of.

He put his arms around mAs aimee, patient through my initial resistance. Crushing me to his chest when I finally allowed the embrace. I didn’t cry. Those days had passed. But something at the icy core of me flared. Suddenly painfully warm. Even more so when I leaned back to see the single tear running down the old man’s face. The only one I’d ever seen crack the hard rock of those green eyes. “Jazzy,” he began.

I shook my head. “It’s over now.”

“Is it?”

The question caught me off guard. Do you ever get past something like that, when the scars slap you across the face every morning in the shower? I realized I couldn’t answer him truthfully. “About the vampire guy,” I said.

Albert took a deep breath. Tightened his hands on my shoulders. Let them drop. “I wouldn’t recommend him. They’re only after one thing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“That’s not what I meant! Well, maybe a little. But I was really talking about the blood. Don’t let him fool you. Just because he’s had a few lifetimes to school himself in our ways doesn’t mean he’s like us. He’s a predator. A parasite. You strip away his act and he’s no better than an undead tick.” He nodded wisely. “No. You stick with that Vayl. He’ll take care of you.”

Ha! If you only knew! “Don’t you think he’s a little old for me?” He’d been turned at thirty-eight. And while no gray hairs sprinkled the coal blackness of his hair, he’d never pass for a twenty- something.

Albert shook his head. “I don’t see you getting comfortable with a young buck now. Seems to me you need somebody who’s survived the same kind of crap as you. Looking at Vayl, you can tell. He’s been through it.”

I thought of the scars I’d seen once, crisscrossing his shoulders and back. Even in his relative ignorance, my dad could still make a valid point. I got up. “It’s definitely time to leave when you start making sense.” I whistled to Jack. When his ears perked I said, “Come on, boy. We’re outta here ’cause Dad’s freaking about the Amityville room again.”