Page 25 of Vampires Don't Give Hickeys
My body awakened once again to his expert tongue and mouth, and I almost whimpered with pleasure. When he released me, I staggered away breathlessly toward the front door.
“Belle?”
“Huh?”
“Are you forgetting something before you head out?”
I stopped, unscrambled, and snapped my fingers. “I need the stake that’s around here somewhere. And maybe some clothes.”
He laughed. “Or maybe not. I doubt anyone would complain.”
I found the stake, weaved it into my bun, and quickly dressed while Jacek did, too, and then we both strapped me into the Kevlar vest. It was time for me to go. Past time, actually. I could feel it in the itch in the bottoms of my feet and the slight cramping in my gut. This was the first night I’d ever purposefully stalled, though to be fair it was also my first night wearing the Kevlar vest. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Paul had shaken me.
“Slayer?” Jacek said softly behind me while I faced off with the door.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
His words seeped into my spine, hardening it against my creeping doubts that I could do this. I dipped my head in acknowledgement, and with a rickety inhale, I opened the door to the night.
Chapter Nine
Acold wind whippedpast my ears, muffling all sound except for the banging shutters on a house across the street. Clouds devoured most of the light from the moon. Bursts of lightning pulsed reflections over the sidewalk leading to the cemetery, making the ground come alive with movement where there wasn’t supposed to be any, and then thickened the shadows once the lightning faded.
I didn’t much like patrolling during storms. My senses were too overwhelmed with all the trickery in the light and sounds. Pair that with three hot vamps, a marriage proposal, and a dark unknown tangling up my mind, and it took every ounce of focus to discern the mundane from a threat. But now more than ever, my life depended on it.
Jacek’s bite on my neck tingled with slight pain when I turned my head just right, and an answering twinge echoed from Eddie’s bite between my legs, a gentle reminder that they could be here with me if needed. The thought both soothed and roughened my nerves, because I shouldn’t have to need them. Yet I wasn’t stupid enough to admit I could do this on my own, either.
I was only slightly less clueless about my slayer abilities as I was when I was nine, so if this Paul shitstorm was going to happen, I was glad it was now, not then. I’d been terrified then, a kid with zero guidance except for the few lines within the golden letter. It seemed like ages ago when I would tiptoe past Mom’s bedroom, unable to resist this compulsion scratching underneath my skin and cramping my stomach, slip out the front door, and wander through the dark streets until I’d arrived at the graveyard. That first night, my heart had tattooed my ribs the whole way until I grew used to it, completed my first kill, and settled into my new role. That kind of gripping fear had taken months to subside, and now it had come back. Tenfold. Twentyfold, even. It felt like my role as slayer was slipping from my grasp, on a steady timer toward my death and the selection of a new slayer. On a normal day, I might not have minded giving up my slayer duties. Minus the death part, of course. But these were not normal days. I was the slayer, which I’d learned to take very seriously, except, you know, when I was staking myself and screwing two vampires.
Those were details, though. Jacek had said the older vampires gave me a wide berth, and not just because I would stake them. Most of them feared me. Paul should fear me, too, be quaking in his stolen bowling shoes, not the other way around. I just hadn’t given him a reason to yet.
I swung the unlocked gate open, keeping a tight grip on it so the wind wouldn’t tear it from my fingers, and stepped inside. Somehow it seemed less familiar to me tonight, the shadows thicker, the statues’ eyes more aware. I fought back a shiver as I closed the gate to the graveyard and to my overactive imagination. This was a test, only with higher stakes than I was used to. Like every other test I’d taken, I would make it my bitch and ace it. End of story. Time to throw down. I turned, and just about lost all control of my bladder.
An orange tabby darted into my path, ears back, tearing across the cemetery as if it couldn’t get out of here fast enough. I sagged against the gate, my pulse crashing in my neck. So much for making anything my bitch.
