I inhale deeply as a gentle gust of wind blows his pee-steam my way. Yuck. Smells like whisky. Wait…and… I catch an overwhelmingly pungent scent that can only be described as jalapeños roasting on a campfire.
The dinner bell has been rung.
Okay. You can do this, Mir. You’ve killed before. They just weren’t people.
I will strike fast, take a taste just to be absolutely sure he is a bad apple, and then I will drag him into the SUV to feed to Michael.
I quietly open the door, slide out, and tiptoe toward the tree-trunk-sized man. The closer I get, the bigger the lump in my chest. Guilt. Ugh. This is so awful! I bet Mr. Nice never felt this bad about killing. Just try to think of him as a pork chop in the meat department at Safeway. He’s just food.
I creep up and tap him on the shoulder. “Hi there,” I say in a sugary-sweet voice.
Startled, he turns and pisses hot, steamy urine on my legs.
“Hey!” I jump back. “Watch it!”
“What the fuck, bitch? Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to take a leak?”
His words set off my prickly vampire pride. “My name is Miriam.” I leap and go for his neck. And dammit, if he doesn’t taste good. So, so, sooo good. It’s like fire-roasted peppers seasoned with Frank’s Red Hot and breaded in dry habaneros. My mouth is on fire, but the sensation lights up my body, one vein at a time. Yum!
The large man fights to get free, but I am stronger, and feeling him struggle fruitlessly under my powerful grip only makes the meal more delicious. The beast inside me never wants it to end.
Suddenly, he goes limp, and I no longer hear the delectable thrumming of his pulse.
Oh no. The rush turns to dread, and I drop him like a sack of dirt. I think I just killed Michael’s dinner.
I crouch and slap his cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up, pork chop.” But he doesn’t respond, and his heart is silent.
Ohmygod. I smack my forehead. Worst vampire ever! I can’t believe I did this!
I quickly grab the walrus man by the wrists and slide him off to the side, behind some trash cans. I run to the SUV to check on Michael. From the color of his skin and complete lack of pulse, I know he only has minutes left. “Michael, Michael, stay awake! I’m going to find you another entrée, okay?”
But with the clock ticking, am I willing to kill whoever walks out that door next? Even if they are innocent? Or a mother?
I know the answer. No.
I suddenly get an idea. Mike’s dinner is currently pumping through my veins. And I know for a fact that vampires can drink from each other. Yes! I can do that.
I drive away from the fresh crime scene and find a spot to park down the block, near a used bookstore. I can’t lie. I want to break in and see what they have, but instead, I hop into the backseat. I straddle Michael, who’s stretched out with his back leaning against the door.
This had better work. I bite my wrist—Ouch! Son of a biscuit, that hurts!—and push the dribbling wound to his mouth. I expect him to drink or latch on or…anything! But he doesn’t.
“You have to drink, Michael. You have to!”
But I waited too long. He’s out.
What do I do?
At this point, my mind offers one option. It is the sort of solution that will only create an avalanche of problems and regrets. But this is the last card left to play, and as much as I will suffer for it, it’s better than losing Michael forever.
I sigh and look down at his beautiful, masculine face with those gorgeous cheekbones and that strong jaw. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
I slide back into the driver’s seat and take off, knowing that after tonight, one way or another, my life will be forever changed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With Michael flung over my shoulder, I forcefully knock on the hotel room door. I pray no one saw me sprint up the stairwell and that hotel security doesn’t notice me now.
“Hurry!” I whisper and knock again, knowing that the man I’m carrying could turn into a cloud of ashes at any second.
Inside, I hear Lula’s faint voice saying that she didn’t order anything. Nice grumbles something about not answering until she knows for sure who it is.
Oh god. Nice. The sound of his voice sends a wave of sick through me. I hate this man more than I hate people who dog-ear library books.
“Who is it?” says Lula from the other side of the door.
“It’s me, Miriam,” I whisper frantically.
The door flies open. Lula is standing there with her dirty-blonde hair, almost the same shade as mine, in two pigtails on top of her head. She’s wearing a hot-pink pleather bodysuit that’s unzipped halfway down her chest, showing off her cleavage.
“What the hell are you doing here? And who’s that?” she hisses.
“It’s Michael. Let me in. He’s about to dust.”
Her brown eyes go wide. “Hurry. Put him over there on the bed.” She steps aside.
I know she thinks I’m insane for coming here. “Someone shot him with an arrow, and he’s lost a lot of blood. He won’t drink anything.”
“What? Is that all?” Lula says.
Is that all? I say it’s enough. I lay Michael on top of the blue paisley bedspread.
“Who was it, my little vittle?” Nice emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing but red G-string underwear.
Gross. I remember those.
His ominously dark eyes lock on my face. “Miriam…” he says, but it sounds more like Medium. His accent reminds me of…of…well, I don’t really know, actually. It’s like someone took Count Chocula and raised him in an international airport.
“Mr. Nice,” I bow my head, “it’s nice to see you.” I swallow my pride, knowing stupid phrases like that tickle
