Page 3 of Taken By The Vampire King

“What do you think you’ve done to our problems now? How do you think we’ll manage when there’s more alcohol in your piss than there is behind the bar?” I could barely contain my anger behind my clipped words and stiff movements.

Dad slumped into the chair behind my desk and it creaked ominously under the sudden weight. The drawer he pulled open groaned in protest, too.

“What are you doing now?” The last thing I needed was him to start interfering in my paperwork.

“My book of contacts.” He mumbled the words, and the image of his well-thumbed, black leather notepad came to mind.

When I’d been a child and Dad had been full of smiles and reassurances, I’d loved to see that book in his hands because it always heralded the appearance of one fun friend or another. That was when I’d thought Dad ruled the world. Back before Mom died and Dad became something else. Before he became this.

I sighed and shook my head. I never thought about those early childhood days anymore. I could barely remember them and they were as far removed from the present as rainbow unicorns and fairytale castles. I’d taken responsibility for Dad’s descent into ruin for so long that I’d stopped believing my Prince Charming might arrive and rescue me. Or any kind of royalty, come to that. But lower-level noblemen tended to avoid me, too.

Now, though, if I saw even so much as a hint of a crown and a royal monogram, or a knight on any kind of white steed coming, I’d lock the door anyway. I had nothing to offer any man—I hadn’t even finished high school because I’d spent too many days covering for Dad, nursing Dad, being Dad via email to keep the business running.

Plus, I had no experience of any sort to offer any man. Being a twenty-eight-year-old virgin didn’t really bother me. After all, some shit people just hadn’t time to do yet—and having sex was vying with cleaning the office for priority on my life’s to-do list. That said, virginity wasn’t exactly a selling point these days. I was practically elderly at this point—and every day that passed made me less confident it was truly a good quality. Society was long past days of purity, after all—experience was definitely where it was at now. At my age, anyway.

Some days—on very rare days, when I had the time to spare—I wished I was like any other woman my age, with the ability to be carefree, maybe even a little sexy. Attractive. Desirable. I hadn’t walked that walk yet, and I missed something I’d never had.

Dad was still fumbling around in the drawer, and I snapped my focus back to him. “Your contacts?” I spat the word. “What the hell good can your bookmaker do for you now? You’ve spent all the money, Dad. What you haven’t gambled, you’ve tipped down your throat. You’re literally pissing it away.”

He flinched but didn’t look at me as he continued to scrabble through the contents of the drawer. I shrugged as I watched him. What the hell did it matter if he ruined my filing system? We were ruined anyway.

He’d already made sure of that.

“I can’t be here with you right now.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled a shaky breath, trying to contain the tears that suddenly prickled behind my eyelids. Frustration rose through me but I expelled it as despair. “Look what you’ve done to us, Dad! We’ve got nothing left. You’ve taken it all, and I… I can’t fix this.”

The words left me empty, and I dug around in my pocket for my last few dollars and some change. Eight dollars and sixty-three cents. And it was all I had left in the world. I peeled the five-dollar bill off the top and left it on the corner of the desk. Dad looked up from where he was flipping through the pages of the notebook he’d found. He’d been lingering on each page like he needed to wait for his eyes to focus before he read the words.

He met my gaze briefly. “What’s that for?”

“Your ride home, Dad. I can’t do this with you tonight. I have nothing else in me. I can’t take care of anything anymore.” Exhaustion rang in my tone. I was bone tired and so weary.

Dad returned his attention to the finely lined pages. “I’ll take care of it,” he murmured.

I drove home almost in a daze. On autopilot. Not even enjoying the view of the Spanish moss draped over the live oak trees as I neared our home. Instead, tonight, even through the darkness, every flaw and crack in the paintwork of our house screamed out loud and proud. I knew exactly which rotten boards to avoid on the old front porch, and the way the water pipes clanked and rattled as I filled my bath was familiar even as it scraped over each of my nerves.

Dilapidation. Disrepair.

Bordering on fucking ruin.

“Oh, Mom.” The sigh of regret slipped from my lips as I slid into a bath that was barely warm.

Once we’d had a house full of staff and lush gardens that spread out to the edges of a bayou. The crepe myrtles had been magnificent then, rather than twisted and overgrown as they were now. Try as I might, some of the maintenance work always slipped to the bottom of my list. Yard work was usually at the bottom.

Top of my to-do checklist was always Dad. Keeping him barely functioning was second nature. Then I had to keep The Pour House running to ensure we had a little money coming in as well as upholding Mom’s legacy. Lastly, I cooked and did laundry, and that was pretty much it. Housework, yardwork, repairs. They just didn’t happen. Either the issues resolved themselves or I learned to ignore them.

I lay perfectly still in the rapidly cooling bath water until my stomach rumbled. I wasn’t even part way close to relaxed, but I climbed out before dressing and heading to the kitchen. On my way through the house, I passed my floor to ceiling bookcases and trailed my fingers over the books, but I had no desire to select one. Nothing could offer me an escape from reality today—not books and especially not TV. We’d lost cable last month after one overdue bill too many, and now my TV sat dark and silent in the corner like some sort of postmodern ornament. I was pretty sure it was judging me, actually.

I was certainly judging me.

And the judgement didn’t stop when I practically hung inside the fridge, gazing over the empty shelves like something edible might magically appear.

I dug my hand into my pocket again, pulling out my remaining three dollars and sixty-three cents.

It wouldn’t buy me a lot, but I should be able to get some pasta and the vegetables to make a sauce. Dad would probably be hungry when he got home as well. I was too angry with him to really take him into consideration this evening, but I did it automatically.

Even though he didn’t deserve it.

I sighed as I grabbed my keys and walked back to my car. Working at the bar meant I kept the antisocial hours of a vampire, but at least the grocery store would be quiet.

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