Lifestyles of the Rich and Undead (4 page)

I settled for more sleep. It seemed the more I slept, the more I needed to sleep. My body had been running on fumes for so long it was as if it was soaking up all the rest it could because I couldn’t be trusted to sleep decently again when I went back to my life. The house was so quiet, a far cry from the traffic noises and sirens that bounced around my city apartment. I didn’t need a white-noise machine here. The silence of the house seemed to wrap around me like a sweet cocoon, helping me ignore my ailing stomach and table bruises.

The only hitch in my “sleep the month away” plan was that the extreme quiet made every creak, every groan of every board echo like a gunshot. I didn’t know much about old houses, but it seemed like this one spent a lot of time settling. At times, it almost sounded like footsteps falling softly against the hardwood floors—ridiculous, as I’d triple-checked the locks myself, a habit I’d carried with me from Chicago.

The Clemsons’ debris was strewn across the house like broken toys. Lindy left a bunch of men’s plaid flannels and Clemson Construction T-shirts in the closet. A manly bar of plain yellow Dial still occupied the little soap dish in the master bath. When I opened the coat closet, I had to dive out of the way to avoid the avalanche of blueprints and graph paper that came tumbling from the top shelf.

And now, on top of these depressing relics, I had to deal with things that went bump in the night? I tilted my head, like a dog listening for its master, and it happened again. The weird noise echoed down the hall. It didn’t sound like the house creaking. This time, it really did sound like footsteps, distinct movements on the floor. As if someone was walking around in the kitchen.

Slowly, my hand slid down the side of the mattress, reaching for the Louisville Slugger I kept under the bed in my apartment. But of course it wasn’t there. Why would I bring a weapon to a nice, safe country cottage?

Something in the other room hit the floor with a muted thud, sending a cold watery flash through my belly. I’d seen
Straw Dogs
. I knew this scenario wouldn’t end well for the out-of-towner.

I jumped out of bed, carefully moving to close the door with a soft click. I leaned against it, both palms pressed against the wood, as if my scrawny self could be any kind of barricade. Forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, I stepped into my sneakers and a hoodie.

Options!
I barked at my brain.
Give me options. You can panic later.

I needed to call 911. But Lindy had taken all of the land-line phones with her when she moved out. My cell phone? In my bag, on the TV table next to the front door. The front door, which was right by the kitchen. That was very poor planning on my part.

I would kick myself later, I promised. OK, I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t get to my car keys. Could I run? My nearest neighbors were three miles away, but if I cut across the cow pasture that bordered the property, I could make that distance pretty easily. I could run in my pajama pants. It would mean leaving my purse behind, but at this point, I was willing to live without my cell phone and the fourteen ChapSticks rattling around in my shoulder bag.

I crept over to the window and tried to shove the sash up. Nothing. It didn’t budge a millimeter. Planting my feet, I tried again, shoving with all of my might. Nothing. Being low to the ground gave me proper leverage, but I was also skinny, malnourished, with no weight-lifting regimen.

I leaned closer to the sill. “What the hell?” I hissed. The windows had been nailed shut from the outside. “Who does that?”

Were all of the windows nailed shut? Why would Lindy do that? I considered throwing my nightstand through the single-pane window and making a break for it, but having no idea who was in the house or why, I preferred to get away without calling attention to myself.

I need more options, Brain!

But Brain was ignoring me in favor of regurgitating random soup recipes. Because knowing the exact amount of mushrooms in the porcini bisque special from the previous week was super-useful at the moment.
Stupid Brain
.

OK, the back door was near the kitchen, which was clearly not a viable route. If I was very quiet, I might be able to sneak past the kitchen, grab my purse, and get out through the front door, calling the cops while I ran for the neighbors. It was better than cowering in my room, waiting for some unknown intruder to decide whether he wanted to add murder to his criminal résumé.

I listened at the door, unable to hear anything on the other side. I touched the knob with shaking fingers, forcing myself to grasp it and turn. I could do this, I told myself. I was a city girl. And I would not let some hillbilly housebreaker intimidate me. I eased the door open. This was
my
house, damn it, however temporary. I didn’t let people intimidate me in my kitchen, much less my house. Giving up the relative safety of my room, I took a few resolute steps out into the hall.

I was Tess Maitland, terror of junior line cooks everywhere. I wasn’t afraid of anything.

Except for heights. And sharks. And backwoods burglars.

My bravado deflated to nil as I neared the kitchen. If I could just sneak past unnoticed and slip out the front door . . . If I could grab my keys and make it to my car, all the better.

My favorite wok—fourteen inches in diameter and carbon steel, nice and heavy—sat on top of a box full of kitchen supplies I’d left in the hallway. I slipped my fingers through the smooth wood handle. Now if he got in the way, the home intruder was going to get a nice, solid whack.

From the kitchen, I could now hear the low hum of the microwave. My arms fell to my sides, wok bumping against my leg.

Who the hell breaks into someone’s house to use their microwave?

Believe it or not, this actually made me feel better. For one thing, someone who was warming up ramen in a stranger’s house probably wasn’t planning the dismemberment of said stranger. And the microwave had probably covered the sound of my approach. As long as I didn’t—

I moved my left foot, wincing as the board beneath it squeaked.

Damn it.

The microwave stopped and swift footsteps moved toward the kitchen door. I threw myself against the wall, hoping to make myself invisible.

The kitchen lights were flicked off and something was coming my way. My hands shook as I gripped the pan tightly.

As the dark shape moved toward me, I raised my weapon high over my head. In front of me, white hands came into view, and a clear, low voice said, “Wait a min—”

Without waiting for the rest of his speech, I did what any reasonable person would do. I brought the steel pan crashing down on his head.

OUT WITH A FANG

BY JESSICA SIMS

“So, Ruby,” Ryder, my Midnight Liaisons representative, said with a big grin. “Here’s how this works. I’m going to go sit on the far side of the restaurant. It’s like a chaperoned date, but I won’t listen in.” She pointed at her ear. “Humans can’t hear across noisy rooms. It’s just to observe and make sure you feel safe and comfortable. The date will begin and end here at the restaurant. If you wish to meet him again, it won’t be chaperoned, though we will ask you to log each date so we can keep track of where you’re at and any interspecies information you might wish to share with the agency.”

“I see.” This all sounded a little controlled. I just wanted a date with a nice guy. A little conversation and maybe some flirting to break up the monotony of my life. Someone to talk to who wouldn’t make me feel so alone.

Someone who would wipe the memories of my last relationship from my mind, because I couldn’t seem to forget about Michael.

She winked at me cheerfully. “Everyone loves Valjean.” She grinned. “We’ll get to him soon enough. But first, I need to finish filling out your profile. Can I see your Alliance ID card?”

I pulled my wallet out of my tiny clutch. Another one of my sister Jayde’s brilliant ideas—a teeny, tiny matching green purse instead of my normal serviceable brown satchel. “Here you go.”

Ryder peered at it, then typed something into her iPad. “I show here that you’re twenty-six and have some college education. What do you do for a living?”

I hated this question. “I’m a security guard at an Alliance storage facility.”

She blinked at me as if it did not compute, and her gaze flicked over my five-foot-nothing frame and my slightly too curvy body. Her response was a polite “Oh?”

“My sense of smell,” I said. God, this was so embarrassing. “They hired me because of my predator instincts. We’re good at chasing things down in shifted form. Hunters. Apex predators,” I mumbled.

Ryder’s smile was brilliant once more. “Oh. Of course.”

God, I felt stupid. And short.

“Sooooo,” Ryder continued cheerfully, tapping her fingers on the iPad. “You also left number twenty-five blank. ‘What made you decide to contact Midnight Liaisons?’ It’s a purely optional question, but we like to get an idea of what brings people to the service. I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

What made me decide to contact a supernatural dating agency? I didn’t meet new people easily, and were-jaguars were loners by nature.

But there was a difference between loner and
lonely
. “My sister suggested the service. She says she’s met a lot of guys through Midnight Liaisons, and it’s been a while since I dated. I had a long-term boyfriend, but it didn’t . . . work out,” I added, feeling the need to explain or she’d think something was wrong with me. “We sort of broke off on an ugly note.”

She made sympathetic noises in her throat, nodding at me. “Of course. Men can be such dicks.”

I couldn’t tell her that I’d been dating a human, since that was forbidden. Humans weren’t supposed to know about people who grew tails and things that went bump in the night. A human might freak out and tell others, and then we’d show up on the pages of the
Enquirer
. Dating a human put everyone in jeopardy.

But I’d been so very in love with Michael. Handsome, funny, sexy. God,
so
sexy. He’d had a sweet smile that would come over his face slowly when he saw me, as if the sight of me instantly made his world a better place. I’d been addicted to him and spent half of my sophomore year practically living in his dorm.

Once my father had found out, he’d been furious. He had threatened me, and when I’d ignored his threats, he’d threatened Michael’s life instead. I’d had no choice but to end the relationship, and quickly. I’d ended it badly enough to make sure that there was no chance of us getting back together ever again. “It wasn’t his fault,” I said. “He caught me with another guy.”

“Oh,” she said slowly. “I see.”

Why couldn’t I keep my nervous mouth shut? “It was a long time ago. Four years. Not a big deal.”

“Of course,” Ryder said soothingly, then patted my hand. “Now, you did say you were open to dating all kinds of men.”

I didn’t remember that, since I’d filled it out in the groggy post-work-shift state. Lord only knew what I’d written down. “That’s fine. I don’t care what breed of shifter he is.”

Ryder smiled. “Let me tell you a little bit about Valjean. He’s a more recent member of the Alliance. He went to the same university as you, which is a great common ground. I think you’re really going to like him.”

“So what breed is he?”

“Welllll.” She tilted her head and lifted her shoulders a little. “He’s a vampire.”

I blinked. “You set me up with a vampire?”

“An Alliance vampire,” she clarified, then raised a hand to stave off my objections. “I know what you’re thinking, but when vampires join the Alliance, they have to sign strict nondisclosure and nonharassment policies. I assure you that he’s very safe.”

I sighed. It wasn’t Ryder’s fault, I supposed, but I didn’t like the thought. Undead was just kind of . . . not my type. “It’s fine.”

“Good!” Ryder pulled out a silk scarf and laid it on the table between us. “There’s another condition to this date that I haven’t told you about.”

Oh, no.
“What?”

“He’s a little uncomfortable with the vampire thing. Says the fangs bother people and they stare at his mouth when he talks. He says he won’t be able to relax unless you can’t see him.”

I stared at her, then at the black scarf. “You’re joking.”

This was going to be a literal blind date? I growled low in my throat.

“He’s just nervous about his teeth,” she pleaded. Her eyes were wide, as if I were somehow being unreasonable. “You can understand that, can’t you? This is the first date he’s had in a very long time, and he’s anxious about meeting you.”

I wavered.

Sensing my hesitation, Ryder pounced. “How many Saturday nights do you get to spend with an immortal millionaire who wants to buy you dinner? Doesn’t it beat staying at home?”

She nudged the scarf at me.

Damn it.
I stared at it for a moment longer, then glared at her. “He’d better be hot.”

“He’s gorgeous,” she assured me, standing up. “Come on. I’ll take you to your table.”