Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (9 page)

werewolves, she and Trent could blend in fairly

well with the humans. But even in Vegas vampires

and fae would stick out.

As for the plane, Sophie didn’t care that much

about the leather seats, flat-screen television, touch

screen controls, or ambient lighting. However, she

was immensely grateful for the fully stocked bar.

By the third vodka, she had loosened her grip on

the armrests of her seat and was beginning to

believe Nana had played a big joke.

“Elvis is dead,” she announced. “Nana

couldn’t have punched him. I mean, him being

buried in a grave at Graceland and all.” She

blinked. “Wait. Is Elvis dead? Or is he some

vampire?”

“I don’t think he’s a vampire.” Trent sat across

from her. “Virginia probably smacked an

impersonator.” He leaned over and pried the drink

out of her hand.

Sophie took it back and glared at him. She took

a big swallow and tried to snort her disgust at the

situation. Unfortunately, the vodka hadn’t finished

its journey down her throat and abruptly changed

directions—going up instead. The burning liquid

exited her nose in a generous spray—much like a

sprinkler watering a lawn—and she attempted to

hack up both lungs. And her pancreas, too.

Silence filled the cabin. After all, what did a

person say after a moment like this?
Oh sorry. Did

I get any snot on you?

Heat scorched Sophie’s cheeks. She released

her grip on the glass and let Trent take it, humbly

accepting his offer of a few tissues. She couldn’t

look at him; her nose felt like she’d inhaled a

jalepeno. She wished the plane would crack right

under her plush seat so that she could plummet to

her death. God, she’d been acting like an

incoherent idiot. Sophie nodded and concentrated

on the wadded-up tissues.

Trent squeezed her knee. “Everything’s going

to be okay.”

NINETY MINUTES LATER, the plane landed at

McCarran Airport, taxiing to the executive

terminal used by several tour companies. Sophie

felt nauseous and anxious as Trent helped her off

the jet.

“I hope I don’t throw-up,” said Sophie. “That

would just suck.”

“You’ll be fine,” soothed Trent. He led her

through the small building. As they stepped out the

glass front doors, a limousine pulled up.

“Patsy is the bestest queen ever,” said Sophie,

as a headache formed. Vodka plus stress plus

errant grandmothers made for a doozy of a brain

melt.

Trent ushered her into the limo. She sank into

the leather seats and sighed. Trent handed her a

cold bottled water.

She drank from it. “Thank you.”

She’d been whisked to Vegas so she could

rescue her grandmother from jail. How different it

would be if she and Trent had gone off for the

weekend, arriving by private plane, then taken by

limo to a luxurious hotel. She lost herself in the

little fantasy, then immediately felt guilty and

selfish for wishing she’d been on a lover’s trip

with Trent instead of spending her time worrying

about her grandmother.

She sipped on her water and stared out the

window.

Themed-hotels

lined

Las

Vegas

Boulevard—from the huge emerald-green MGM to

the pink big top of Circus Circus.

Sophie felt like she’d been dropped onto a

movie set for giants.

It was nearly midnight when they reached the

police station. After several inquiries and wrong

turns, they found an information desk.

The matronly woman behind the counter stared

at a computer, punching the keyboard with her

long, purple nails. “Mr. Howard King dropped the

charges,” she finally said. The clerk grinned. “Oh,

I remember these two. Fighting and fussing and

poor old Elvis in the middle holding his toupee.”

“We need to pay her bail,” said Trent.

“No bail. They were let go. Both got tickets for

disorderly conduct, but no jail time. Hey, are you

daughter of the bride?”

Sophie blinked. “Bride?”

“Yeah, honey. All that fuss was over a

wedding.”

“Who? Where? When?”

“This isn’t the registrar’s office. You’ll have to

go courthouse to get that kind of information.”

BACK IN THE limo, Sophie sat in a daze, not

even registering the glittering lights of the Strip.

“How did I get ‘I’m in jail because I punched

Elvis’ confused with ‘I’m getting married to

Elvis’? Those phrases don’t sound remotely

alike.”

“Try her cell. See if she answers.”

Sophie dialed her grandmother, who picked up

on the second ring.

“Hi, Sophie. Sorry for all the fuss. Turns out I

didn’t need bail money after all.”

“I heard.”

“Oh. You… uh, went to the jail first, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can bunk with me. I’m at the MGM

Grand.” Nana gave her the room number, and

Sophie told Trent where to go.

WHEN THEY GOT to the hotel room, it was

nearing two a.m. Nana answered the door. Her

nice, gray hair stuck up in several places, and her

clothes looked slept in. Sophie gaped at her.

“Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies. I

know I look like hell.” Nana smoothed down her

permed nest of hair and straightened her clothes.

“Hangover. Just a little one, though. Tequila was

much stronger in the old days. Worms were tastier,

too.”

Sophie’s are-you-freaking-insane lecture was

silenced by the vision of Nana swilling tequila like

a vaquero might in the days when the West was

still being won. “Where’s Betty Lee?” she

managed to ask.

“With Howard.”

“And Howard is...?” asked Sophie.

“Elvis,” responded Nana in a gravelly get-a-

clue tone. “And her new husband.”

Relief washed over Sophie. She hadn’t

realized how tense she’d become after finding out

her grandmother might be married. “So, Betty Lee

married Elvis, er, Howard?”

“Yes,” Nana said, waving her hand in a get-up-

to-speed gesture. “She’s moved into his place. She

works fast. I think she glamoured him with her

laser eyes.” She put her forefingers up and wiggled

them. “I hope he doesn’t have a heart attack when

he finds out she’s a vampire. I tried to talk her out

of it. You know how that hundred-year-old bonding

thing goes. If he croaks, she’ll be carrying around

his ashes for a century.”

Sophie shared a horrified glance with Trent,

who held onto her elbow and steered her into the

room and to the nearest chair. Trent grabbed the

opened bottle of rum sitting on the television. He

ripped the paper covers off two glasses and

poured the liquid into them. Sophie took the

proffered glass and sucked down the contents.

He was not only hot and kind and

compassionate, but he was also smart. The rum did

its job, warming her from the inside out.

Trent joined Nana to have a hushed

conservation. The alcohol dulled her werewolf

senses, so she only heard bits and pieces. Or

maybe it Nana’s outrageous behavior had caused a

brain aneurysm. She concentrated her hearing on

their voices and managed to pick up some of what

they were saying.

You said blah, blah, blah of her comfort zone.

I didn’t mean you should blah, blah get

arrested in Las Vegas.

Well, it worked, didn’t it?

“What are you two talking about?” she called.

“Whose comfort zone?”

“Mine.” Nana settled onto the corner of the

bed. “Look. All is well, okay? I should’ve known

tequila would lead me down the wrong path.

Especially after that time I got naked and rode your

grandfather through the forest. Oh, he was such a

handsome werewolf. Strong, too.” She paused, lost

in the fond memory. Then she snapped back to the

present and added, “Those campers sure were

startled.”

“Nana—”

“Hold that thought. I gotta pee.” Nana

disappeared into the bathroom.

“My grandmother is a floozy and a drunk.”

“You should probably add brawler to that list,

too.”

Trent poured more rum into her glass. She

liked the nice warm feeling in her tummy and

sighed. “Grandpa’s probably rolling over in his

grave.”

“Henry’s laughing his ass off,” interrupted

Nana as she exited the bathroom. She plopped onto

the bed once more. “He always said I had a great

right hook.”

Trent took the chair opposite of Sophie.

“Virginia, why don’t you tell what happened

tonight from the beginning?”

“We went to the Ultimate Bingo tournament,

just like I said. Turns out it was full of old people.

So Betty Lee and I beat feet and went to the

blackjack tables.” She waggled her brows. “That’s

where the young stud muffins are.”

Nana poured out the rest of the tale, though in a

disjointed way with a lot of irrelevant tangents.

Seemed like the tequila had pickled her brain.

“So Betty Lee wanted to marry Elvis, and you

protested this by smacking him with his toupee?”

Sophie rubbed her temples as she tried to

understand Nana’s convoluted and strange story.

Her only relief stemmed from the fact that at least

Nana wasn’t the one who got married.

“No, I smacked him with the preacher’s

toupee. It had fallen on the floor after he was

knocked unconscious from the flying cherub

statue.”

“Wait. You left that part out. You struck a man

of God with a stone cherub?”

“Of course not! Elvis’ former fiancée did that.

She stormed into the chapel, heaved the thing right

off the stand, and threw it at Howard. He

ducked...well, you can guess the rest.”

“Then Howard had you thrown in jail for

hitting him with some fake hair?” Sophie turned

and looked at Trent, who sat next to her. He was

having a difficult time maintaining his composure.

His cheeks kept puffing out as he held his laughter

in check; then he’d choke it all down. Tears

trickled out of his eyes.

“Well, he tripped over my foot,” admitted

Nana. “It was an accident, but he wailed like a

newborn baby when he went down. Came up

cussing because he broke a cap. Apparently Elvis

impersonators are very picky about having perfect

choppers.”

Sophie closed her eyes, took a fortifying

breath, and opened her eyes again. “Why did you

hit Howard?”

“I already told you that I didn’t know

Howard’s perverted friend had pinched my behind.

Howard was standing next to me, and the other old

coot had high-tailed it to the end of the bench.

Mind you, this was in the middle of Howard’s ex-

girlfriend’s hissy fit.” Nana sniffed. “It was a little

mistake on my part.”

Trent wiped his eyes, sucking in breaths.

Sophie reached over and pinched his arm. He

pressed his lips together, his face reddening as he

attempted to hold himself in check.

“After we got out of jail, the actual wedding

was almost anti-climatic. Well, unless you count

the fact that Howard dressed in white bell-bottoms

and diamond-studded glasses. He sang a nice ditty

after the ceremony. Betty Lee did seem happy.”

Nana got to her feet and stretched her arms.

“Betty Lee and I got adjoining rooms. Since she’s

not using it, I’ll sleep in hers. You two take this

one.” She looked at Sophie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t

know Howard would drop the charges. He was

pretty upset about the tooth.” She smiled and

chucked Sophie under the chin. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Good night all.”

Trent and Sophie said their good nights. Once

Nana had left, Sophie suddenly realized she was

alone in a hotel room that only had one queen-sized

bed.

“We’re adults,” said Trent, following her train

of thought. “We’ll each take a side and get some

rest. It’s been a long day.”

“The longest day ever.” Sophie was so tired,

which made it easier to care less about sleeping

arrangements. Still, being close to Trent and not

touching his yummy body might difficult. Even so,

she took the left side of the bed, tucked herself