Page 60 of Your Coffin or Mine
“Fuck you.”
He chuckles. “If I had knownhowyou would react to the pen, things would have happened differently, but at least we now know you can’t control yourself afterwards. And you didn’t end up killing anyone tonight,” he says, angling his head to eye my pants for blood stains.
I clasp my hands together on the counter and shrug nonchalantly. “The night is still young.”
He climbs to his feet and makes his way around me, and I take in his missing suit jacket, and his rolled shirtsleeves. He moves behind the kitchen counter, bending out of sight to retrieve something.
“I told her you needed to check the castle foundations and that we sometimes get tremors, but they’re harmless,” he continues, ignoring that I’ve even spoken.
My nose wrinkles and I level a piercing stare at him. “It’s astonishing, really, your inability to see how very badly things could have gone wrong. I could control myself just fine if I hadn’t been stabbed with fucking adrenaline! What the fuck were you thinking? I could have hurt her.”
“Keep your voice down.” He heads down into the cellar, and his voice grows muffled in the dark space. “Honestly, I was thinking you had lost your mind attempting to eat garlic, but my job is to keep you alive, remember? I told you not to, if you will recall.”
He climbs the stairs with a bottle of cognac in hand. He gives me his side as he reaches for two glasses to pour us both a drink. Good man, I’d say we both need a stiff one.
“Hmm. What other foods does she like, I wonder?”
I pick up an apple from a fruit-filled plate on the counter and toss it into the air, before floating it with my gaze.I like that I’m truly getting my strength back.
“How should I know? I only wish I could have gotten a picture—it was great! I especially liked when you hid your face with a napkin like a blushing bride.”
I put my hands into my pockets, watching the apple spin in midair before slapping the back of Doyle’s head, hard, with my ability.
He winces, rubbing where I hit him, but continues pouring one handed. “Hey, watch it. Do you want a drink or not? I’ll have both if you keep it up.”
“Since when is stabbing someone protection, Doyle?”
“Today actually. I reported our findings to Frank, and he’s going to add them to the trial notes.”
“I am sure he was overjoyed to hear it,” I say sarcastically.
He laughs and shoots me a look. “Actually, he questioned what would give you cause to go near garlic. I threw him off, but no more human dishes for you.”
“Do you think she’s starting to suspect?” Garlic and the sun are practically the only things that can harm a vampire, and the sunscreen increases my chances of avoiding detection considerably.
“I’m not sure. You left so quickly, I had no idea what to tell her.”
I rap my fingers across the cold countertop. “You are the most annoying person in existence.”
“Therein lies the problem. You don’t even have a proper basis for what is and isn’t annoying in existence anymore. It’s been a hundred years, there are new annoying things. Like getting cut off while driving and helping older relatives with technology.” He grins. “Now,that’sannoying.”
My eye begins to twitch, and he laughs, shaking his head. “Truly though, what is most concerning to me is that we may need to send Hilda to Jekyll. He’s been asking for centuries, and it wouldn’t hurt her. She may even be happier there.”
I take a deep swallow of the cognac he slid across the counter moments ago, while I place the apple back where it belongs using my powers. “You don’t know that. I refuse to let the woman who raised me suffer at the hands of idiotic scientists.”
“It could be good for her, a new venue, one that isn’t underground.”
“This was your idea, not mine. It’s not as if she’s holed away,” I retort. “You make it sound as if I’ve imprisoned her.”
“She can’t even come upstairs, Vlad.”
“The catacombs are as big as the castle and twice as dirty. You know she’s been trying to get me to let her clean down there for centuries, so she’s enjoying herself.”
I arch a brow when Doyle collapses dramatically in his chair. “You basically use the woman’s obsessive cleaning habits against her.”
I point my finger at him, squinting and pursing my lips. “You know I’ve seen this somewhere. Petulant children whining across the internet. There are memes about this.”
He stiffens and levels a pointed finger at me in return. “Fuck you. I’m serious about Hilda—it would be better for everyone.” His palm opens as his brows furrow. “And where are you watching these things?”
