Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (15 page)

Had I been able to cry, the first teardrop would've fallen onto the drawing of two red-faced creatures reminiscent of Ninns—the soldiers who did the bidding of evil Lord Sparr in
The Secrets of Droon
.

I closed the book and pushed it away, then lay down on the couch and dry-wept. Patrick had lost everyone… his mother, his wife, his children… and his dad bestowed a monstrous gift without his consent. What would he have decided if Ruadan had asked him? Would he have gone to the afterlife? Or chosen to live as a vampire?

I wondered what Ruadan might've chosen if Brigid had asked him rather than pour her mother's blood down his throat. Hadn't he, too, been turned into a vampire without the chance to choose his fate?

Ah, but the theme was the same, wasn't it? Parents who loved their children so much they couldn't let them go. How far would I go to save Bryan and Jenny if anything horrible happened to them? What if it was the worst thing ever… would I Turn them? Would I save them or doom them? Would I hold on or let go?

I cried a little more. Well, a lot more. After I was finished, I picked the remote up and turned on the TV.

I was ready for mindless entertainment. My brain was in full meltdown. And I still felt horribly sad.

An infomercial touted a knife that could cut through a tin can and then slice a tomato.
Click
. Lieutenant Columbo pretended to bumble his way to solving another murder. I watched Peter Falk for a few minutes.
Click
. Another infomercial blared the wonderful qualities of an exercise machine. Hah.
Click
. A
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horror flick played on the Sci Fi Channel and I watched some muscled no-name actor blow the head off a slimy gray alien. Okay, enough of
that
.

"So, is this what you do with eternity?" I asked the empty room. "Watch bad television. And without any good nibbles to distract me."

I wondered if vampires took donors to the movies. The donors would eat popcorn and drink soda and the vampires would eat nothing and drink donors. Popcorn-flavored blood. I snickered at the idea of invitingSharon to the Olde Tyme Theatre to be my snack.

After going through all the channels a third time, I settled on
Columbo
. I sighed. I'd have to get a satellite dish or a subscription to Netflix. Then again, with the whole town switching all activities to nighttime, I'd be busy again with mommy duties. We'd have to start over. School would never be the same. And what about the PTA? Everyone Turned, except Charlene and Ralph, had belonged to it. We'd have to change the name to Preternatural Association of Parents. PAP? Uh… no.

I wasn't sure how to spend the rest of the night. Either I was stuck watching reruns and infomercials or I had to face the basement and its contents. Or… I could procrastinate. It's not like I wouldn't have the time in say, oh, a hundred years, to worry about it.

Patrick? I waited, but didn't receive any response. He'd shut off his mind again and I probably wouldn't hear from him. I thought about his children. His wife. My heart ached for him and for all that he had lost over the centuries.

Patrick? Are you okay?

He didn't answer though I swear I felt a fingertip brush my temple. Maybe it was my imagination. Or maybe it was him, trying to let me know he was there. Or maybe it was nothing at all and being a vampire was making me nuts.

I felt so restless… so hollow. Well, damn. I missed Patrick. The only thing I knew for sure was that I lusted like crazy after him. What would it be like to have actual intercourse with Patrick? I'd probably implode.

But man-oh-man, what a way to go.

As I lay on the couch daydreaming about sex with Patrick, the low drone of the television was a constant lullaby. Though I wasn't tired, I felt drowsy. The drowsiness melted into a kind of euphoria.

After a moment, I felt almost giddy. Then floating… happy… free.

When the TV went dead and all the downstairs lights flickered off, I didn't feel compelled to disturb my elation. Despite the sudden and total darkness, I could see perfectly well. Granted, I should've been alarmed at the big, furry man-thing that appeared next to my couch. Huh. How had he gotten into the house?

"You're really tall," I said.

He leaned over me and snarled.

"Phew!" I waved a hand in front of my face. "Two words, honey.
Breath. Mint
."

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His maw opened, saliva dripping from razor teeth, and roared. The garbage-stench of his breath made me gag and the loudness of his roar vibrated through me. On some level, I knew I should be terrified.

Yeah. I should've been pissing my freaking pants.
This isn't real
, whispered the soft voice of reason,
you're dreaming. And dreams can't hurt you. Ssshhh
.

"Go away," I murmured. "Bad, bad dream."

The monster's blue eyes flashed with triumph. He lifted a huge, hairy arm and swiped down. The ugly yellowed claws raked open my chest.

Pain ripped through me, but I felt so disconnected, I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I felt a warm sticky liquid splash my neck and face. Oh, right.
My blood
. It splashed him, too, and matted the fur coat he wore.

"That hurts," I pointed out. "I would really appreciate it if you'd stop."

I heard glass shattering and wood snapping. I thought about the French double doors that opened from the breakfast nook onto the patio. Rich had installed those a few years ago. I
loved
those doors. Those were some great freaking doors. Gone now. Such a shame.

A loud, angry roar echoed through the house… then ricocheted inside my skull. Heavy footsteps thudded and then I saw another furry creature lope into the living room. Familiar. Tall, brown, and fanged… oh yeah. That guy. He attacked the one still trying to paw my flesh into ribbons.

Ssshhh, precious one. You're fine. Everything's okay. No need to think. No need to worry.

I relaxed as the soothing voice rubbed away my headache, the throb of my wounds. I was okay. Sucky dream, that's all.

The two beasts ripped into each other, pounding with fists, kicking with legs, biting with teeth. It was like watching two fierce lions battling for the zebra. Hey, wait a minute.
I
was the zebra. I laughed at my little joke, and felt the rusty flavor of blood fill my mouth. It dribbled off my lips. Shit. I couldn't lift my arm to wipe my mouth, either.

I watched, bemused, until the creatures battled their way out of my line of sight. I heard crashes and growls and fighting. And lots of roaring. Oh for Pete's sake!
Enough of the roaring, already
. Really, those two should take it outside. How the hell would a bigfoot pay to replace broken furniture and shredded curtains?

Suddenly dizzy, I felt a distinct POP in my mind. The rapture wrapping me in a nice, fluffy cloud of indifference abruptly dissipated.

Pain roared through me. Horrible, throbbing, sharp… I was bathed in fire. In acid. In broken glass. And there was a terrible keening that made my head ache.

Then I realized the long sad noise came from me.

I was screaming.

I bit on my lower lip hard and swallowed those awful sounds. I mentally sought Bryan and Jenny.

Patrick's command to sleep had not been broken. They were safe. Thank God, they were safe. So much
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for Damian, the bodyguard. So much for any guards. Where the hell was everyone?

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. My kids were safe. I was ready to let go now. I didn't have to fight anymore. I didn't have to hold on.

"Jessica."

"Bigfoot," I croaked. "I'm sleepy."

"No, Jessica. Stay." He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. The feel of silky fur against my skin felt so soft, so nice.

"I'm not afraid," I said. "It's okay." That was the truth. The pain had faded into nothingness. I felt like a bubble, about to rise and float away, and I looked forward to the journey.

"Stay," he demanded.
You are Patrick's happiness. I will not let you go
.

Don't bully me. And stay out of my head. You're as bad as your brother.

I rose up, up, up… through the ceiling… the roof… the sky… I rushed toward the bright and beautiful stars.

The last sound I heard was the anguished howl of Lorcan O'Halloran.

Jessica. Jessica? Jessica!

What?

Where are you?

I don't know. I'm safe. I'm okay. It's nice here.

Come back.

No.

Come back, love.

I can't. I don't know where I am. I don't know how to return.

I'll guide you, a thaisce.

I don't think I'm supposed to leave.

Please, Jessica. Please come back to me. To Jenny and Bryan. Is't mo shonuachar.

I don't speak Gaelic, you doofus.

Jessica… you're my soul mate. Come back to me.

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I woke up without opening my eyes. My body felt so heavy, so clunky, I could barely stand to be inside it. I took several deep, cleansing breaths. Wait a minute. I could breathe.

"A dream," I muttered. "Just a dream."

I wasn't a vampire. There'd been no ravaging beast eating citizens for dinner. Broken Heart wasn't turning into a community filled with paranormal residents. I'd had a very realistic, long-lasting nightmare. I was in my own bed, snuggling under my thick, warm comforter, dreaming of the weird and the wild.

Stretching my arms above my head, I slowly opened my eyes.

And looked straight into the face of Satan.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

"So you
are
awake," said the Devil.

"You're a woman." I pointed weakly at her nose, which was closest to me.

"Yes, I'm a woman. It's delightful to know that you recognize gender." She peered at me, her green eyes narrowed. She had skin like fresh cream, the sort of cheekbones most women had to buy, and a full mouth as red as fresh-picked cherries.

Strange gold patterns pulsed on her face. I swear the color shimmering on her flesh seemed alive. But even with the markings on her face, she was utterly gorgeous.

Satan is a woman. She's a tall, tattooed, redheaded woman. And she likes to wear pearlescent white robes. And she has minty fresh breath.

"Padriag has been pacing outside the door since sunset."

"What for?"

"Hmmm." She straightened and I realized how tall she was. Wow.

"Are you an Amazon?"

"I'm a healer." She smiled. "My name is Brigid."

She had a lyrical, soothing voice. Her accent reminded me of Patrick's, but though she was probably Irish, too, I wasn't sure. Brigid… that name sounded familiar. Oh, wow. Was she
that
Brigid?

"Are you related to Patrick?"

"Yes." She waved her hand at me to forestall other questions. I realized the gold patterns covered her entire body. They swirled and changed into different symbols and shapes.

"Holy shit. How are you doing that?"

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"The
draíocht
senses what spells you need and changes to accommodate your health."

I felt the magic. I didn't know how to describe it. A tingling in the air around me, I guess. As a kid, whenever I got sick, my grandma would arrive with her stock of cures. One thing she always did was rub menthol on my chest. The magic produced by Brigid was like a menthol full-body rub. I looked at the ever-shifting gold designs in total awe. "It's alive? Like a… a parasite?"

Her eyebrows arched. "It is a sacred gift, one that I am honored to have and duty bound to use. I will allow Padriag to enter and speak with you. There are many others who wish to see you, too. But they will have to wait."

"My kids? Are they okay?"

"They're fine. They have come in every day and whispered prayers for you."

I felt relieved that Jenny and Bryan were okay. I felt weak and dizzy and very, very thirsty. I scooted around to find a comfortable position. A nap might be in order. What had happened to me? Vague images flashed, but nothing fit together in a way that made sense. Then what Brigid said penetrated my thickheadedness.

"Wait a sec. What do you mean my children came in
every day
?"

My question remained unanswered. Brigid opened the door and beckoned Patrick inside. As he strode across the room, she left and shut the door behind her.

Patrick stood over me, his silver gaze sweeping across my blanket-covered body. Then those eyes settled on my face. He said nothing, just gave me the Inevitable Doom Look until I wanted to squirm all the way under the covers and hide from him.

Instead, I managed to squeak, "Uh… hi."

"You will feed."

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." I pouted at him.

"Brigid is the best healer in the world. Of course you are fine." Then why did he look so damned relieved? What had happened to me? I'd been viciously attacked. Panic wormed through me.

"Stop thinking about what happened," said Patrick. He climbed into bed and gathered me into his arms.

"There will be time enough to figure out the details. You will feed now, Jessica."

"You're in my presence for five seconds and you're already bossing me around."

"Get used to it." He cradled my head and adjusted positions so that my mouth pressed on the pulse that beat in his neck. "Take what you need, love."

"What about spontaneous combustion? I can't control myself around you. My lust meter goes off the charts."

"Jessica…"

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My fangs had already elongated in anticipation of feeding. I punctured the vein and almost moaned when Patrick's blood gushed into my mouth. I drank until my thirst was assuaged. Then, reluctantly, I pulled away. The holes healed instantly; I licked away the tiny dribbles left behind.