Chapter 17
“Whoa, whoa, whoa ! ” I said, wishing I wasn't doing this all by myself. “Let's not jump to any conclusions, my eager little pups. Garrett would eat his own balls before he'd ever hurt Antonia, and he'd never, never kill her.”
Derik shuddered and covered his eyes. “Must you use phrases that I'll never get out of my head? 'Eat his own balls'? Who says that?”
“Not to mention, it's hard to believe,” Cain added.
“Believe? Why is that so hard? Now all of a sudden you're big vampire and Fiend experts?”
“Vampires aren't accident-?prone?” Jeannie asked, and to her credit, it sounded like an honest question.
“Well, I am,” I admitted. “But not Garrett.”
“You can explain about Fiends?” Sure.
“There are no taboos against discussing such things with outsiders?”
“I dunno.” Wyndham couldn't hide his surprise, so I borrowed a phrase from his pal Derik. “I think it's that culture clash thing again. If it'll keep you from pulling Garrett's legs off, I'll answer any question you like.”
“That's a good thing, chief,” Derik said. “Stop looking like you're expecting the other shoe to drop—on your head.”
“For a ruthless despot of the undead, you're awfully charming,” Michael said, and no one in the room was surprised when Jeannie's fist slipped. But he got his breath back in no time at all.
Lara asked—and received—permission to use the bathroom. Jeannie got up to accompany her. And I used the kid's absence to explain about Fiends, about Nostro and his sick-?ass psycho games, about Garrett's slow recovery, about all the progress he made and how much he and Antonia loved—
“So by your own admission, this creature was sub-?human only six months ago?”
“I don't know if sub—”
“Subsisting on buckets of blood, running around on all fours, and howling at the moon?”
“Physician, howl thyself,” I pointed out.
“And he couldn't even talk?” Michael persisted.
“I don't know about couldn't. Didn't talk would be more accurate. But see, after he drank my blood and the dev—and my sister's, he got better. And you guys—you just don't know. I mean, the way he feels about Antonia. She's his everything. He'd ki—uh, he'd die for her.”
“And she for him, I s'pose?”
“Well, it's hard to imagine Antonia getting all mushy and stuff, but yeah, I imagine she'd—” Too late, I saw the trap Michael had set for me. I shot to my feet and started to pace. “You guys, Garrett did not kill Antonia and then take off for parts unknown. There's no way. No way.”
“Mmmm,” Wyndham said.
“Hmmm,” Derik added, also apparently unconvinced.
“You don't see me with my knickers in a knot, asking you if your Pack member killed my guy and then took off. Did I show up, fists flying, jumping to conclusions? No.” I smirked to see the Wyndhams looking uncomfortable. Except for Brendon, who glared at me.
“We've been over this,” Michael said, mildly enough.
“Yeah, but now that your kid's gone, you can apologize for being totally out-?of-?control, foaming, slavering assholes who hit first and asked questions later.”
He drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds, and then, after a long, difficult moment (difficult for him, not for me) he said, “I apologize.”
“Okay. It's totally conceivable that Antonia saw the future and got the hell out of here and that Garrett tried to stop her and so she—she—I dunno, gave him a bath in holy water and then left town on the first Amtrak headed east. That could totally happen, but I'm not getting all suspicious and paranoid, right? So there's no reason for you guys to stay beady-?eyed.”
“Are there any other unusual goings-?on?” Michael asked, leaning forward. “Anything mysterious? Something that might lead us to answers?”
“Everything's fine,” I lied. I cocked my head;
I could hear Babyjon asking for a bottle. Loudly. “And you'll have to excuse me a minute; my brother needs me.”
I moved past them, and Wyndham's hand shot out and closed over my forearm. I saw the whole thing and had plenty of time to avoid him. But I didn't. His hand was really warm. I could actually feel his heartbeat through his fingers.
And he smelled—have I mentioned how frigging delicious these guys smelled? No wonder Garrett found Antonia irresistible. It sure wasn't her personality.
Michael's hand squeezed my arm. He was so cute, thinking he was actually holding me in place. “Betsy, really. Is there anything going on?”
I smiled. “Michael, you worry too much, anybody tell you? I said everything's fine, now didn't I? So don't sweat it.”
On my way to the nursery, from one room and a hallway away, I heard Michael's very distinct order to Derik.
Chapter 18
Derik bounded beside me on the stairs like a big blond puppy. “It's nothing personal,” he said cheerfully keeping pace with me as I climbed the eighty zillion stairs to the nursery. “But we can't tell if you're lying or not— that whole 'no scent' thing—and it's driving the chief out of his head.”
“I'll bet.” I was a smidge—-just a smidge— sympathetic. To go your whole life being able to tell if everyone around you was lying or not, that had to come in handy. One of the few things Antonia had mentioned was that her Pack hardly ever bothered with lying. . . there was absolutely no point. And then to run into me, someone who could (she was a short, genius brunette and still smell, fine not smell, as the case was), that had to be frustrating.
“So I, the most charming and handsome werewolf in all the land—”
“Should I throw up here on the stairs? Or try to wait until I can find a garbage can?”
“—will catch you off-?guard with my witticism and charisma.”
“And don't forget your sexy Martha Stewart T-?shirt.”
“Hey, hey. Don't diss my girl Martha. She could kick your fine undead ass with one homemade seashell napkin holder behind her back.”
“Derik, you're seriously bent, you know that?” He ignored me. “And then I, fearless Pack member, shall swoop down on the truth like a crow on a grub.”
“Did you just call me a worm?”
“I did not,” he said, following me into the nursery. “I called you a grub. Big difference. Huge!”
I laughed; I couldn't help it. The big doof probably was the most charming werewolf in all the land. “Dude, you really are the—eh?”
I had reached the crib, bent over, plucked Babyjon it And was surprised to be alone. I turned and Derik was—there was no other word for it—he was cowering beside the nursery door.
“What's going on?” I asked, completely startled to see the six-?foot-?plus blond huddling in terror.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Jesus!” He forced himself to straighten, shook himself all over, then cupped his elbows in his palms. It almost looked like—it looked like the big strong badass werewolf was hugging himself for comfort. But that couldn't be right. “Every hair on my body is trying to jump ship right now. Least that's what it feels like. I've got the worst fucking case of the creeps. I—what's that?”
“This is my baby brother.” Babyjon wasn't crying or anything. I had slung him over one of my hips, and he
