Endless Night (10 page)

She’s just noticing this now?

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Also, how she knew I wasn’t part of the blood gang I didn’t know. It really didn’t matter how. If I knew how, I might believe it. According to Cyrus, believing opens doorways to fear. And I sure as fuck wasn’t prepared to be scared. So, in true Dylan fashion, my drunk ass said, “Nope. But who the fuck cares, eh? You’re not all mighty. Why don’t you fuck off to fuckety off land and try your voodoo bullshit on someone who gives a shit because it’s not working on me.” I tried to stand but Cyrus stopped me. Probably for the best seeing as though I was likely too drunk to hold my own.

“Curse me as you like. I have curses too.” Her head dropped an inch and she stared at me through her raised brow.

“Fuck your curses bitch!” I stood then. Cyrus be damned. There was no way I was letting this little girl threaten me. Admittedly, I wasn’t an idiot when it came to fighting fear. I hated being scared, hence all the anger. Anger is better. Anger fueled the fight.

I must have been drunk because the girl, Azelie, seemed to move so quickly toward me she was standing only feet from me before I could make a move. With the tattooed mystic that close to me, I prayed Cyrus would come to my aid should I need
it. Just in case.

“Your body fight what your heart know is true.” Her voice seemed to slither from her pale lips and tickle along the hairs on the back of my neck. “You think your faith save you?” she laughed one hard heavy laugh, “
Nothin’ saves you.” Her little hand lifted, allowing her black rosary to dangle freely from her wrist. A God fearing voodoo mama.

I opened my mouth to say something even more damaging than I had already spewed out, but the girl’s outstretched hand swooped up and snatched me by my hair. “You will believe. Your heart belongs to me now.” She whispered into my ear. Her hand wrenched into my thick mess of hair piled on top of my head. I teetered on my heels, but held my own. “She’s yours
Secondus. Have her while you can.” The little hand released its grip in my hair, ripping a chunk out with it, and threw me back onto the couch.

I landed with a bounce and felt a spring dig into my bare knee. “Fuck,” I grabbed my messy hair and held it to my aching head.

“Are you alright?” Cyrus asked as he used his hands to check my body for injuries. I think.

My head lifted and my eyes darted around looking for my attacker. She’d gone. Just as quickly as she’d invaded our sanctuary, she’d disappeared. Bitch.

“Fine. What the fuck was that all about?” My heart was pounding out of my chest and I thought I might vomit. If I wasn’t scared before, I was now. Not because I believed she’d curse me or that she had some kind of magical power, but because I knew now she was crazy enough to turn make-believe into reality. You didn’t snatch a bitch’s hair, it just wasn’t done.

“It seems our uncertainties have been confirmed. She’s pissed,” he laughed, but I knew he was trying to make light of the situation. When people tried to make things seem better than they were, it usually meant it was pretty damn bad.

“Well, obviously,” I flopped backward and leaned into the cushioned back of the couch. “I am far too drunk for this shit,” I grabbed my forehead with one hand and rubbed my head with the other.

“Maybe it’s time to leave. Would you like to leave with me?” he asked like I’d say no.

“Let’s blow this blood bank,” I stood too fast and stumbled.

“Should I carry you?” Cyrus asked as he caught my fall.

“Yeah, you and what army?” I laughed and regained my balance.

He held my arm to steady me as we descended the stairs together. Normally, I’d have protested, but I was drunk and a bit randy; I was not about to ask him to stop touching me. I nervously surveyed our surroundings as we made our way through the crowd. All we needed to do was get out those two doors and we were clear. Oh, well, then we had to make the fifteen minute walk back to the car in the darkened New Orleans streets.

Fuck.

We stopped in the center of the dance floor. “We’re leaving. I’ll need the car.” Malcolm and Tatum were devouring each other on the dance floor and we’d interrupted. Fuck ‘
em. “Sir, it’s urgent.” Cyrus pressed.

“Fine, fine. Take the girl home. Be gentle with her, Cyrus. She’s a delicate one,” Malcolm laughed and scooped Tatum up into his bare arms and walked away with her. I ignored the ‘be gentle’ part, I wasn’t too concerned with that and took the delicate part as a compliment.

“Have fun!” Tatum called from the shoulder of her beau.

I wanted to hate her, but it was never going to happen. I would sooner get over my own bullshit and give in
than her succumb to my pleading. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand than whether or not my friend wanted to hang out.

Cyrus groaned and dragged me deeper into the thick of vampy kids. Capes and wings flipped around in a never
-ending dance around us. If filmed in slow motion, our escape would make for a phenomenal music video. The two of us slid effortlessly through the hordes of lace, coat tails, top hats, and fangs. Cyrus’ beautiful body led the way in the rescue of his damsel in distress.

Damsel I was not. Ever. Would I have argued at that moment? Fuck no. I wasn’t an idiot. Usually.

We made it to the double doors and Cyrus shoved them open with his muscled shoulder. More vamp kids stood out front waiting to be allowed in, I assumed. We ran through them and to a waiting car at the curb. I stopped in my tacks and refused to enter the unknown car.

Where the fuck did this car come from?
What is this Knight Rider?

“Come on, I’m not kidnapping you. We’ll need a ride to our car.” His words weren’t overly reassuring, but I didn’t really have a choice.

I slid in the back and Cyrus was right behind me. “Waterfront lot,” he said to the driver.

“Where did this car come from? Some kind of vampire telepathy called for a car?” It sounded ridiculous as it came out of my mouth.

“No,” he said like I was an idiot. “It’s a sober car. Mostly here for the Primus and Secondus, we all need to get home somehow.” It was as if I should have been aware of this my entire life the way he talked about it.

Sorry. Where I came from you sucked it up and drove that shit one-eyed. But, I guessed their way was better.

“So, that woman, she’s not going to pop up at random and take a pound of flesh is she? I’m just asking to be prepared next time.” Right.

“She will not be allowed near you if I can prevent it. I can guarantee she will not follow you to our house and your weekend should be more pleasurable than it has been so far.”

As long as I didn’t have to lay my eyes on Tatum and the ridiculousness of her life, I should be able to focus on research. Oh, and getting laid.

“Well, here’s hoping,” I smiled and gave a bit of a wink.

Scary bitches be damned, Dylan Hart did not turn down opportunities to nail underwear models. Secondus of the House of Cal…whatever, underwear models at that. Alright, not that I’d ever been in this particular situation before, but why the fuck would I start turning that shit down now?

Vampire boys, voodoo queens, and drunk bitches. What the hell else would you expect from a weekend in New Orleans?

This shit cannot be normal.

Chapter Ten

I sat shotgun in our fancy rental car, drunk, and staring at the lovely man at the wheel. After months and months of no action, a girl began to get antsy. Honestly, I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far without any kind of lovin’, as they say.

“You’re pretty,” I said, giggling like a stupid girl.

He smiled with his entire face and said, “As are you.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” I knew I sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was fairly good at hiding a slur, there was no hiding this.

“Believe me or not, that is entirely up to you. And, knowing you, you never will.” His eyes were trained on the street ahead of us.

We stopped at a red light, which had no reason to be red, and waited our time. I thought, or tried to think, about what he’d said. About me never believing him. To a point, he was absolutely right. He’d hidden truths from me that nearly got me killed. How did you trust someone after something like that? Not to mention, why in the fuck would a guy like Cyrus Atossa even look twice at a fat ass like me? It didn’t happen, ever.
My gut told me he had a hidden agenda. My sexual frustration told me I’d better get while the getting was good. And dammit this was good.

I pulled the lace mask from my face and sat quietly, thinking of things better left to the imagination. The car remained silent the last five minutes until we reached our destination. It wasn’t for lack of things to say. I had plenty to say. To ask. I just figured it’d be better to wait until the time was right. Until I wasn’t sloshed.

I’d hardly waited for him to shift into park when, with all the grace I could muster, I slung my stocking clad leg over his lap and in one fluid motion flipped my big ass over to sit on his lap. I took a moment to congratulate myself for not totally fucking up potentially the slickest move I’d ever pulled and re-centered my focus on the handsome face inches from mine.

“Dylan Hart, where have you been hiding this vixen?” His breath was minty and warm on my cheeks.

I was suddenly self-conscious about my own swamp mouth. I knew, just knew, it couldn’t smell fresh. In fact, the likelihood my breath smelled like something that crawled out of a dumpster was very high.

“You are quite lovely,” Cyrus said with utmost certainty.

“As are you,” I tried to talk without letting air escape my mouth; it never worked.

It unexpectedly dawned on me that I was sitting spread eagle, in an amazing car, perched atop an underwear model who also happened to be the
Secondus for the House of vampire crap, and I was one-hundred percent awake. Granted also horribly inebriated, but that was beside the point.

This cannot be my life.

I knew this was it. Sitting the way I was, acting as slutty as I could pull off rationally, it was inevitable. I got uncomfortable when I knew someone was watching me. When someone looked at me with some sort of expectation, I always fucked up at that moment. I felt Cyrus staring a hole in the side of my head as I let my gaze linger out the driver side window. My body was leaning toward his, nearly pressed chest to chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to keep my eyes locked on his. I didn’t know if it was because of their perfection or because of my imperfections, but meeting his eyes made me feel helpless. Like I was his little lap dog panting and dancing at his feet begging for a treat. A pet. A scratch behind the ears. Anything would do. It was as if I was staring into the one thing I couldn’t fight off. Couldn’t say no to. I’d tried in the past and finally gave up on looking at his face all together. Well, directly anyway.

Now, sitting as I was, if I didn’t look at him, nothing would ever happen. His hand trailed up the center of my back and down again leaving a heat memory in my skin. I pulled a long, deep breath in through my nose to calm my nerves and with it dragged in his scent. He always smelled so clean. So masculine. I felt his breath on my neck and decided to make my move.

I turned my head to face his before I lost the nerve. I wanted him, sure. But I wasn’t generally the type to throw herself at someone. Unless very drunk, which I was, so it made no difference. My head turned and met his only an inch away. My world spun as I did and I felt, for the first time, truly and utterly drunk. I swallowed hard and tried to push the inebriation down. My eyes focused on his lips, so close to mine I was nearly cross-eyed looking at them. A slight grin slid over that perfect pouty mouth. I felt him shift his weight under me and his arms pulled me closer; tighter toward him.

I closed my eyes and waited. Beginning to feel too drunk to pursue my conquest I allowed him to take over. His nose nuzzled against mine and I smiled. It was cute. Not what I was looking for. He slid his face to the side of mine and kissed along my cheek so softly I could hardly tell they were kisses. It felt as though he was trailing his lips across my skin. He lingered an inch from my lips. Soft lips touched the corner of my mouth and stayed there. Cyrus shifted his body again, but this time, with my eyes closed, it sent a wave of drunken dizziness through my head.

I fought the spins and tried to stay with him. His hands reached up and pulled the pins from my wild hair. All my wavy locks came falling to my shoulders. His mouth, though still near mine, lingered in limbo, not touching mine, but close enough it could happen in an instant. Cyrus didn’t even bother running his hands through my mess of hair. I was glad. He touched it, ran his hand over it, and I even think he gave it a sniff. I’d never really been with anyone who took their time as Cyrus did. We hadn’t even kissed each other full on the mouth and I felt I’d been more intimate with him than anyone in my life. Mike included.

Heavy hands held my hair in a snug, slightly domineering grip. And I kind of liked it. Cyrus slid his lips across my cheek again, but was not stopping. My heart raced in anticipation. My stomach flipped and fluttered with it. His lips met mine and I realized it wasn’t anticipation.

He pressed his mouth to my lips and I pushed him away. I wasn’t fast enough. Bile filled vomit came pouring from my once sensual lips and splattered his handsomely tailored shirt.

My hand flew to my mouth and I fumbled for the door handle. I found it in record time and tumbled from the car onto the spongy grass that lined the sidewalk in front of the manor where we were staying. My ass stuck up in the air while I crawled on my knees to a safer place to release the remaining contents of my stomach. As I wretched in the gutter in front of a vampire infested southern mansion, I worried about the affect this particular event would have on my psyche. And more importantly at that very moment, what kind of affect it would have on the remainder on the weekend.

I heard the car door close and cringed. I was finished puking my guts out, but I hated to look up and see what I’d made of the lovely man I’d so nearly gotten my grubby little hands on.

“I’m so sorry,” I sputtered out still lying in the wet grass.

There was no response. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and wiped that hand on the grass. Checking the front of my dress for remnants of vomit, I was grateful Cyrus had been holding my hair for me when it all came out. I was clear of leftovers. But I hated to see what I’d left all over Cyrus’s black suit.

I rolled over onto my ass and looked up. Cyrus stood nearly over the top of me. Shirtless. My jaw dropped and I was instantly thankful I’d puked. Although, if I hadn’t Lord knew where I’d be at that moment. If you were gonna vomit on your date, at least revel in the fact he must now be without his clothing. Thank God for small miracles I guessed.

I knew I looked a hot mess and smelled like hot garbage. Sloppily, I groped the shoes off my feet. I knew I’d never stand up on my own wearing those bad boys. On wobbly legs, I lifted my heavy frame disagreeably from the wet grass. I felt like a complete and total
fucktard.

Cyrus laughed and ran his hand through his hair. A motion I would expect from the likes of Michael Petersen not Cyrus Atossa. So…normal. He was laughing at me. I stood, as best I could, and slammed both fists on my hips. My face scrunched and I glared at him. So fucking drunk I couldn’t handle myself.

Without a further word, Cyrus swooped my fat ass up in his arms and carried me. He didn’t just pick me up. He picked me up, draped over his arms like a bride, and carried me to the front door. I felt so fucking fat. I knew he was going to drop me. Or get too tired and make me walk. I waited for further embarrassment. It never came.

I relaxed when we came to the door and nearly fell asleep after the first set of stairs. By the time he carried me to my room, I was so worried about him and was flabbergasted he was able to lift me up let alone carry me all that way. Shit, I had a hard enough time carrying my own body up those stairs.

His hot skin pressed against my arm. He never said a word. I was afraid to open my mouth for fear the stench of bile would waft out. His scent was still lovely and masked anything I had left on me.

My face was snuggled, drunk and comfortable in his chest when he lowered me onto my bed. I was sad to have to leave his arms. I was even more mortified I’d fucking puked on him.

“I’m so sorry,” I slurred out. I tried to look at him, but my eyes wouldn’t focus and twisted my view.

“Just sleep,” he said in a tone that told me absolutely nothing about what he was thinking.

I felt his weight leave the edge of the bed and my hand automatically reached for him. I caught his arm and he stopped. A tiny noise came from my throat and he laughed. His weight returned. I was relieved he didn’t despise me, but a bit worried he stuck around purely for revenge. His warmth helped me forget it all.

He relaxed next to me. I felt his hand slide over my hair before his fingers began twisting bits of it between them. The world spun from my spot on my borrowed bed and I rolled with it. There was nothing left in my stomach to throw up so I had no worries of further pea soup moments. If I were at home, I’d have been in the shower, guzzling down water, and popping aspirin like it was candy. But I was stuck in a darkened and totally foreign environment. Strangely enough, the only person I had to rely on was Cyrus Atossa. The person who drove me nuts from the moment I’d met him had quickly become my only ally. Thanks to Tatum and the fire crotch asshole, it seemed like I might be Cyrus’s only ally too.

Blackness was taking over and my breathing was falling in line with my heart beat. Numb limbs laid haphazardly on the overstuffed bed and conveniently on the man who decided to lie next to me. It was the first time I’d laid, just laid down with a man since Mike, and if I hadn’t been fucked up beyond belief, it probably would have been awkward. Thankfully, I was a lush.

Before sleep took me over, I hoped to God I’d wake up and Cyrus would still be there and that he’d have mysteriously forgotten the whole thing. But I knew it was more likely I’d wake up and have forgotten the whole thing. I’d set out to get laid, finally, and I fucked it all up by barfing on my suitor. In pure Dylan Hart fashion.

Living, breathing, puking, conundrum
.