Undead and Uneasy

Chapter 19

“Well, thanks for stopping by," I said again, and it was even more lame than the first time I said it.

Derik, upon his quick recovery, had done some fast talking to save me from another werewolf beat-​down, and now they were all leaving. And not being very subtle about wanting to get the hell out of my house, either. If I hadn't felt so anxious, I would have been amused.

Derik limped past me, which was a big improvement, because he'd broken both legs when he'd hit bottom. These guys regenerated as fast as Sinclair and me. . . maybe faster. Must be their iron-​rich, high-​in-​protein diet. Mmm. . . their yummy, yum diet. I was drooling just watching them file past. Why had I never noticed how delicious Antonia was?

Easy. When Antonia was around, Sinclair had also been around, and his blood was just fine. More than fine. We'd actually incorporated blood-​sharing into our lovemaking and now, like a Pavlovian dog (or George on the Seinfeld episode when he equated salted cured meats with sex), all I had to do was get a whiff of someone's delicious blood and also find myself horny as hell. Which wasn't exactly—

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Derik asked, massaging his knee.

“Uh. No reason. Thanks again for visiting. And good luck picking up Antonia's scent.”

I'd offered to show them her and Garrett's room, let them get a whiff of the sheets or whatever, and they'd all looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

I guess I was picturing a scene right out of a cop movie: baying bloodhounds sniffing sheets or a dirty sweater and then howling off into the night, hot on the trail. Apparently real life was different. And werewolves weren't bloodhounds.

Which was a shame, because bloodhounds were really cute.

“Crazy fucking vampire,” Jeannie muttered, so softly she probably assumed I hadn't heard her.

“Don't forget your parting gifts!” I cried, sending Lara after them with a helpful shove.

“Thanks for your hospitality,” Michael said without the teensiest bit of irony. We shook hands as the others filed past. He squeezed. I squeezed. He squeezed harder. So did I. I figured anybody else's hands would have been crushed to bloody powder by now. “We'll be doing some checking around town and will keep you posted,” he added, slightly out of breath from our mano a bimbo.

“And I'll call you”—I held up the card with his cell phone number on it—“if I hear anything from either of them.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You, too. Bye, Derik. Cain. Brendon. Lara. Jeannie. Michael.”

“Betsy,” Jeannie said, “I want to make clear that I only shot you because—”

I shut the door. And since it was a big heavy door about two hundred years old, it cut her off with solid BOOM!

Did I think they had anything to do with everything that was going on? No. I really didn't. Werewolves weren't exactly famous for lying or subversiveness. I seriously doubted they'd—what? Snatched Antonia back, staked Garrett, then shown up at my house and staged a pretend fight, all the while playing like they had no idea where Antonia and Garrett were?

Vampires would pull that sneaky shit in a cold minute. The Wyndham bunch? Naw.

Probably naw. Their appearance today was still an awful coincidence.

It was either a really really good thing that the werewolves were in town right now, or a really really bad thing. Too bad I had no idea which it was.

I took the stairs two at a time, plucked a fuming Babyjon out of his crib, fixed a fresh bottle (he liked 'em cold, and we kept a supply in the small fridge in his room), and let the poor starving tyke have at it. While I was walking with him back to the kitchen, I wondered about Derik's extreme reaction to my half brother. Hadn't he said that his wife was pregnant? Maybe babies freaked him out.

I cuddled Babyjon closer into my side and kissed the top of his fuzzy dark head. “Guess he'd better get over that in a hurry,” I told him. “Unless he likes sleeping on the sorceress's couch.”

The phone rang as I got near the swinging door, and I grimaced. What fresh hell was this?