Wedding Ring Asshole was coming for me again. and I watched in amazement as he limped, limped less, and, by the time he reached me, wasn't limping at all. I was so busy gaping I nearly forgot to duck as that ham-? sized fist looped toward my head again.
Nearly. Instead I sidestepped the punch and shoved the guy so hard into the wall that the plaster (or whatever old walls are made out of) cracked all the way up to the ceiling.
Note to self: do not mention all the household repairs to Jessica until she is back on her feet.
The effect was so much fun I grabbed him by the hair and threw him into the wall again. Wheee!
“Don't hurt my daddy!” someone shrieked, and I was horrified to see a girl of about six standing to the side, white faced. How had I missed her? Besides the fact that the adults had all converged on me at once, like IRS agents on a small business owner?
“Are you people all crazy?” I cried. “You brought a little girl to a fistfight?”
I was so shocked that I didn't move fast enough to avoid the bullets: one to my heart, two to my left lung.
“Jeannie, no!” Wedding Ring Asshole howled, as I went down and down and down and down. .
Chapter 15
I opened my eyes to see a ring of faces around me. Since none of them were the faces I wanted so desperately to see, I responded in the usual way: by yelling. “Gah!”
“I think we'd better take you to the hospital,” a curly haired blond woman I hadn't noticed before said. Since her hands reeked of gunpowder, and I could smell the leather of her holster (fat lot of good it did me to notice that now), I had an idea who to thank for my perforated heart. “Can you walk?”
“I think she should stay put. How would we explain this? We're fifteen hundred miles from home. I'm not sure how many of the locals would be sympathetic.”
“Well, I think—”
“I think you psychos better get the hell out of my house!” I then spat blood in a fine cloud that they all looked at. Nauseating, yet weirdly pretty. Focus, Betsy.
I tried to sit up but, weirdly, they all had their hands on my chest, even the kid. I shrugged them off (gently, for the kid's sake) and sat up. “Owwww, my heart.” I furtively felt my tits. “And my lung! You bums barge in, attack the hostess, then shoot her in front of a child?”
“I'm no child,” the child said, blinking her gold eyes at me. It reminded me of a cute little owl, and I chomped on my lip so I wouldn't smile at her. “I'm the next Pack leader.” She extended a small, chubby hand. “My name's Lara.”
'So pleased to meet you, darling. Nice handshake. Now get out and take your psycho guardians with you.”
“I don't think you should stand,” Wedding Ring Asshole worried.
“You weren't too worried about my health five minutes ago,” I snapped. “And I don't think you should keep your hands on me for another half second.” climbed unsteadily to my feet. The room tilted, then steadied. Luckily I'd fed a couple of days ago—another queen perk. All vampires had to feed every day. 'Cept me. I'd snacked on a homeless guy on the way home, then picked him up (literally), ran the eleven blocks to the nearest hospital (in three minutes), and dumped him at the ER for some blankets, TLC, and hot food.
Anyway, the most helpful drunken darling had helped me more than he knew. I heard three clinks as I the bullets worked their way out of my body and fell to the wooden floor. I ignored them (must be a Tuesday!), but the other five stared at the misshapen bullets, then at me, then at the bullets.
“Out, out, out!” I reiterated, since they all seemed slow. Or hard of hearing. Or both.
“Truce?” W.R.A. asked, smiling warmly. Ooooh, great grin. I ignored the twinge that brought to my nether regions and crowed, “Oh ho! Now that your tiny brains have processed the fact that I'm fairly unkillable and you couldn't beat me—or shoot me—into submission, you're all Peace Talk Central. Well, fu—” I remembered the kid. “Well, forget you.”
“We just wanted to talk,” one of them had the unbelievable audacity to begin, but I stomped all over that one right away.
“You all suck at talking without punching.” I listened hard, but there wasn't a sound from Babyjon's room. Thank God. He'd slept through the ruckus— and the gunshots! Or he'd crawled into the laundry chute. Either way: quiet as a little baby mouse. “I mean it, ass—uh, arrogant intruders. You don't want to see my bad side.”
“It gets worse than this?” one of them teased, a real cutie, with blond hair, green eyes, and a Schwarzenegger build. He was the only one who looked genuinely friendly. He was wearing faded blue jeans, beat-?up sneakers, and a T-?shirt that read “Martha Rules.” He rubbed his chest and added, “You pack a pretty good punch, blondie. Ever think of taking up the circus life as the strong man?”
“Ever think of introducing yourselves before you mug a lady?”
“I'm Derik,” the good-?looking blond said, “and this is my Pack leader, Michael Wyndham.” The dark-?haired guy with the impressive smile and yellow eyes nodded at me. “And our alpha female, Jeannie.” The curly haired shooter also nodded. “And Brendan, and Cain, and Lara—Michael and Jeannie's daughter.”
All the ridiculously good-?looking people nodded at me, the soul of politeness, almost like they hadn't been trying to kill me five minutes ago. And they were as amazing looking as any vampire, except they were the picture of robust, superhuman health, with blooming complexions and deep tans.
My mouth was watering just looking at them. God, they smelled so good. Ripe and lush, like grapes on the vine. Except for the blond gun-?toter. She smelled. . . could this be right? Ordinary?
“We came looking for Antonia,” Jeannie said, not taking her hand off the butt of her thirty-?eight. I quickly revised “ordinary” into “gun-?wielding psychobitch.”
“Oh. Duh. Werewolves, right?”
“We did tell you we were coming,” Michael reminded me.
“No, you dumped a totally cryptic conversation on me without even telling me your name, and then you hung up.”
“I told you she wouldn't get it,” Jeannie sighed. She snapped her holster closed, zipped her hoodie (in late June!), and I felt a little better as the gun was hidden away. Bullets couldn't kill me, but they ruined my clothes and stung like crazy.
“Antonia wouldn't have moved in with her without explaining. . . um. . . okay, it's possible my logic where Antonia's concerned is a little faulty.” Michael sighed and added something puzzling while shrugging. “Rogues.”
Derik smirked, Jeannie rolled her eyes, and the other three remained stone-?faced, but Michael had the grace to look abashed. “I, um, like we were saying, I thought Antonia would have explained things to you. I thought you were ignoring instructions and—”
“Hello? You're her—what's it? Pack leader?”
“So she did tell you.”
“And you never noticed that Antonia wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful?”
“Point,” Derik said cheerfully.
“I'm not the boss of her, dildo breath, just like you prob'ly weren't.”
“What's a dil—” the kid began, but she shut up at a warning glance from her mother. I cringed; I'd forgotten all about her again. I reminded myself that it was their own fault for bringing a child here. Yeah! All on them.
I cleared my throat, which, since I had no saliva was more of a harsh bark than anything else. Two of them jumped, and Jeannie's hand strayed toward her gun again. “Anyway. Antonia. She grew up with you bums, right? She's only been here for a few months, but she grew up with you bums, right?”
“I sense culture clash,” Derik piped up. He really did look like he was enjoying himself, and it was hard not to smile back at him. He gave off friendliness like a teenage girl gave off hair spray fumes. He was like a big. . . well, puppy. “Werewolves punch first and ask questions later.”
“How totally fascinating and yet not interesting to me at all.”
“Unlike vampires, who never ever do anything bad,” he continued, still madly cheerful.
