The Fangover (6 page)

But he supposed not everyone was the same way. You know. Like in a totally unrequited, pathetic crush.

Pacing in his apartment, he gripped Stella’s purse and tried not to panic. He would go ask around and see if anyone had seen her the night before. According to his phone, it was midnight, around the time everything went fuzzy in his memory the night before. He knew a lot of the bartenders, sound guys, deejays, and band members on the street, and they all knew Stella. If she had been out and about, someone who knew her might have seen her.

So he took to the street, her phone and his in opposite pockets. Maybe she’d call him. Or herself. Because that made sense. Not. But it was his only plan.

He lived on Burgundy and Conti, and as he headed toward Bourbon, he popped his head into a few local bars on the way. No one had seen Stella.

Cutting the corner close at the daiquiri shop, Wyatt glanced in, annoyed as usual at its neon flashing lights and sparkly floor. Too much stimulation for a vampire, though he supposed that hadn’t been factored into their decorating.

But he forgot all about the floor when he saw a tan, built guy in nothing but a banana hammock. Which in and of itself wouldn’t have caught his attention, because it was a common enough sight on the street, but it was who the dude had his arm around that made him stop suddenly in his tracks.

It was Stella.

A guy bumped him from behind. Wyatt barely managed a mumbled apology as he stood rooted in the doorway, shocked. Speechless. Furious.

Stella was sipping from a giant cup and talking to the bartender. The musclehead next to her stood there, his hand possessively rubbing the small of her back, his taut butt cheeks flexing in his orange Speedo as he shifted.

Wyatt felt sick. Even worse, he felt jealous. He hadn’t felt jealous in about a hundred years, and he had certainly never felt jealous of a pinhead with a waxed chest. But he could still feel Stella’s mouth on his cock and the thought of her with anyone else, especially this mortal show-off, made him see red. He needed to punch something.

He settled for taking a deep breath and calling, “Stella!”

She was already turning around, clearly sensing him. “Wyatt, oh my God, I’m so glad to see you.”

That soothed his battered ego a bit. He started toward her, eyeing the almost-naked guy as he turned around.

But then Stella followed up with, “Please tell me you have my purse and my phone.”

That was a little deflating. “Your purse is at my place. I have your phone in my pocket.”

Sighing in relief, she held her hand out. “Thanks.”

That was it? Thanks? Wyatt had been worried sick for the last three hours. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

Instantly, she bristled. “I was in the room with you guys the whole time. You all thought I was Saxon’s friend Bob.”

“That was you?” He’d never known Stella to morph into bat form. “Why didn’t you just come back and tell us?” He spoke in code, very aware of the mortal standing next to her. The mortal who smelled like baby oil and dried blood.

Blood? Wyatt homed in on the man’s neck. There were bite marks on him. Bite fucking marks. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have.

“I couldn’t,” Stella said tightly. “I was stuck.”

“How do you get stuck?” Wyatt asked. Stella just wasn’t the type to get stuck in bat form. “And who is this?” He thumbed a finger at her buff sidekick, who was just standing there sucking on his drink straw. With bite marks on his neck.

“I’m Benny.”

“He’s been helping me since you all left me without any means of communication or a way to get to my apartment or into my apartment!”

She was seriously going to cop attitude with him? Wyatt was floored. “I was worried about you! I wasn’t going to just leave your purse laying on a riverboat deck. You’re never more than an inch from your purse. I thought you were kidnapped or mugged or fell off the boat or something.”

Just the thought of any of those made his shoulders tense and his skin tight, even knowing that she was safe now.

“I did.”

“Did what?”

“Fall off the boat.”

It took him a second. “You fell off the boat?” Well, that explained her leaving her stuff on the deck. She hadn’t meant to. It also explained her morphing. It didn’t explain her getting stuck or who the hell Benny was and why she had bitten him.

“After that I have no idea what happened. The night is a total blank. Then when I woke up, Benny here was in the bathtub and he let me borrow his phone but I couldn’t remember your number and I didn’t have any money.”

Wyatt eyed Benny. “You’re the priest?” He could honestly say he would have never realized this was the same guy. This dude did not look like a priest to him now that his eyes were open and his robe was missing. Maybe he’d never really looked like a priest. Wyatt had been more focused on the fact that he’d had Stella’s purse than anything else

“No. I’m a stripper who dressed like a priest for tarts and vicars night.” His hand came up and waved around. “How the h-e-double-l I wound up in your friend’s bathtub, I have no idea. The last thing I remember was leaving work. Then nothing until I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth.” He gazed adoringly at Stella.

Fortunately, she ignored her admirer. “Okay, so how is it possible that you, me, Benny, Saxon, Cort, and Drake all don’t have a clue what happened last night? That’s basically impossible.”

That was really strange. Something else occurred to him. “Hey, have you been to Johnny’s?”

“No, why?”

“Because I was there looking for you and the place looked like it had been tossed. I just figured you’d been there looking for the necklace.” But if she hadn’t been there, who had? The relief he’d felt at finding Stella was replaced by worry. Something was going on.

“No.” Stella bit her lip.

“Did Johnny piss anyone off lately?” Wyatt racked his brain for anything his friend might have said that would have indicated someone might be out for him. “Did he owe any money?” That might explain his suicide, too. Maybe he’d gotten himself in some kind of trouble?

But Stella shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. He wasn’t acting any differently.”

“Who’s Johnny?” Benny asked.

Wyatt struggled not to be annoyed. “Stella’s brother. Can we give you a ride home or anything, Benny? We appreciate you helping Stella out but she and I have a few things to take care of now.”

“I don’t have time to go home, but thanks, bro. I have to be back at work for the late shift tonight, in an hour.” Benny slurped his drink. “You live in the Quarter, right? Can I grab a shower at your place?”

Wyatt wished he knew who the hell this guy was and why Stella had bitten him. He figured he had been fairly patient. Now he was expected to let the guy bathe at his house?

“Of course you can,” Stella said, shooting Wyatt a warning look. “Come on, let’s go so you’re not late.”

Apparently she expected him to just go along with it.

Apparently he was going to.

Wyatt followed Stella and Benny as they walked out of the daiquiri shop, heads bent together, whispering like a couple of middle-school girlfriends. He felt left out. Bitter. Jealous. His head was still throbbing a bit from whatever they had drunk the night before. He was starting to feel like they’d been slipped a roofie. But all of them? How was that possible?

Heading down Conti behind them, he brooded. Some might even call it pouting. But he preferred smoldering. He raised his hand in a wave to Raven, who played at the Famous Door across from them and probably was on a set break. They weren’t friends, given Raven’s odd proclivities of gathering a harem of mortal women around him and doing animal blood sacrifices. It was showy and, in Wyatt’s opinion, cruel. But Raven had never given him reason to get into it with him. They had an unspoken agreement to politely tolerate each other.

Raven had been at the wake the night before. Wyatt wondered if he remembered anything from that night. He called to Stella to hold up, then jogged across the street.

“Hey, man, what’s up? Thanks for coming last night.”

“Sure.” Raven tilted his shaved head, the dagger tattoo trailing down his cheek glowing in the neon lights of Bourbon Street. “That sucks about Johnny. Didn’t think he would do himself in, man. Still can’t believe it.”

The thought made Wyatt’s throat tighten. “Me either.” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, so he asked, “Did you see Stella around last night?”

Taking a drag on his cigarette, Raven shrugged. “I saw her at the wake for a minute or two. I see her now with some douche bag across the street. What’s up with that?”

Like he needed to be reminded. “I don’t know.”

“You should shorten her leash, Axelrod. I wouldn’t let any of my girlfriends disrespect me like that.”

Wyatt suddenly couldn’t remember why he thought he needed to be polite to Raven. “Stella isn’t my girlfriend.” Unfortunately. “And I don’t need your dating advice.”

Raven’s eyebrow shot up. “Hit a nerve, huh? Maybe you need to take a look at your life. Be a little more careful.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I’ll do that,” he told Raven wryly. “Catch you later, man.”

Pretentious prick. With a stupid tattoo.

Fast walking, he caught up to Stella and Benny.

“Are you a vampire, too?” Benny asked him as they turned onto Burgundy.

Wyatt shot Stella a sidelong look. She shook her head slightly. “No. There is no such thing as vampires.”

“Alright, play coy. I know the truth. And I’m going to convince Stella to turn me. We’re meant to be together.”

Wyatt almost lost his lunch all over the cobblestones. He would put Benny in a box and ship him to Antarctica before he let Stella cross him over. Meant to be together. Please. Benny had absolutely nothing to offer her in the way of intelligence or conversation or understanding. He knew nothing about her.

Unlike Wyatt, who had forty years of knowledge of Stella. He knew her. Knew how to make her happy.

Feeling his mood grow even stormier as they got back to his place, he was actually grateful to show Benny the bathroom and hand him a towel. He shut the door on the grin Benny was sporting across his tanned cheeks and stomped back into his living room. He tried to control his frustration but it took all of three seconds before he lost it on Stella.

“Did you actually bite that idiot?” he asked her.

She had sat down on the couch and was riffling through her purse, which he’d left on the coffee table. She shot him a look of defiance. “I was stuck in bat form. I needed to feed and it’s kind of hard to open the fridge when you have wings. Benny was there, passed out, and I seized the opportunity. It’s not my fault he woke up.”

If he were feeling rational, he would see the logic in what she was saying. But Benny had muscles Wyatt didn’t even know existed, and he wasn’t capable of letting it go. “He saw you. He wants you to turn him. Please tell me you won’t do that.”

“Now you’re just being insulting. Why would I do that? Do you honestly think I want him hanging around tonight even, let alone for eternity? You’ve lost your mind.” She slapped the flap of her purse closed, set it back down, and glared at him. “I’m just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”

“You need to wipe his memory and get rid of him.” That was the bottom line.

“He helped me. I’m not going to just wipe his memory. No one will believe him and he doesn’t remember anything from last night either, so I feel bad for him. He’s like a sweet Labrador, you know? Somehow he got sucked into our night and God only knows what could have happened to him. Look at the washboard player. She woke up a vampire because apparently we can’t hold our liquor.”

Wyatt glanced toward the bathroom, the sound of the shower reassuring him that Benny couldn’t hear what they were saying. He felt completely indignant. Insulted. Blown off by Stella.

“I have no problem holding my liquor. I could drink your buff dog under the table.”

So there.

Chapter Five

EVERYBODY HATES A DRUNKEN BIRD

K
ATIE
didn’t know what was weirding her out the most—that she was a vampire or that she was potentially married to Cort, or that she was trying to find out what happened last night based on the comments of a talking parrot.

She knew being a vampire should win, hands down. Vampires really existed, and she was one of them. That should be a totally astonishing and scary realization—but for some reason, it really wasn’t.

She had to be in shock or something. She was a
vampire
. A real, live—wait, was she alive still? Maybe she was dead. Okay, she could admit that was a weird concept, but for some reason the whole idea of being married to Cort was the thing foremost on her mind.

How was she supposed to process all of this, period? She certainly couldn’t process it all at once, that was for sure. She needed time to think. She needed . . .

“I need a drink.”

Cort stopped his determined stride, turning to look at her. The parrot fluttered its wings at the sudden stop. Both man and bird studied her for a moment.

“Are you alright?”

“What do you think?”

“Katie,” he said, taking a step toward her, but she backed away. She didn’t want him too close to her. Not right now. She knew full well that his nearness would just serve to confuse her more.

Of course that wasn’t a new sensation. She was very accustomed to that particular feeling. She’d been experiencing it since the very first time she’d met him.

She’d just finished the last set of the day with her zydeco band, Beau and the Bayou Band, and she’d decided to stay for a drink with her favorite bartender, Jacob. A usual day on Bourbon. Until Berto Cortez had walked into the Old Opera House, tall and lean and mussed in a perfectly sexy way. She’d been instantly attracted to his swarthy, Mediterranean good looks and charming smile. But she’d especially loved his dark eyes that managed to look sleepy and intense all at once. He’d strolled up to the bar and introduced himself to her and Jacob, telling them that he was the new lead singer of The Impalers and to call him Cort.

From that very first meeting, she had been in serious lust with him, even though she never acted on her feelings. For the last three years, they’d talked only on an amicable level, two musicians working on Bourbon Street at the same bar. Never had Cort been anything but polite and friendly, no signs of attraction. Certainly no signs of lust.

And now they might be married. She might be married to Cort the vampire. And she was a vampire herself. This was nuts.

“A drink is probably a good idea, actually. A little hair of the dog,” Cort said, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she looked like she needed it, or because he himself did. Not that it much mattered, she just wanted some time to process what she knew before they found out anything more.

Katie knew she was a happy, sensible person. She also knew people considered her a good girl. Not prone to drama, or excitement of any kind, really. Downright boring, some might say. In fact, she’d always hated the lack of excitement in her life. That’s why she’d left her dull, small-town existence to play in a zydeco band in New Orleans. Wild, decadent, dangerous New Orleans. But even with this big move, she’d still managed to have a pretty humdrum existence.

Until now. Now she’d managed to find excitement in spades.

Maybe she didn’t really want excitement after all. But she did want that drink.

“Let’s go here,” Cort said, pointing to a small bar across the street.

In all her time living in the Quarter, she couldn’t recall ever noticing this place, not that she cared where they went as long as she could get a very, very stiff vodka and tonic with extra lime.

They walked up a couple of dirty, concrete steps and through the open door of the small, dimly lit room. A few patrons were scattered along a glossy wooden bar, each of them seeming to be there alone, focused on their drinks rather than finding companionship.

That worked for her. Katie walked to the end of the bar and slid onto one of the wooden stools. Cort took a seat beside her, his shoulder brushing hers briefly as he situated himself.

The parrot hopped down from his shoulder to his forearm, then down the bar, waddling a few steps, before whistling loudly.

The bartender looked in their direction instantly.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke,” the bird chanted in its strange voice as the man approached.

“Well, the bird certainly knows how to get service,” Cort said, shaking his head.

Katie probably would have been amused on any other day, but all she cared about at the moment was ordering her own drink and trying to understand what was happening to her.

“Grey Goose and tonic. With extra lime,” she told the bartender. “Actually make that a double. Please.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cort raise an eyebrow, but then he said, “I’ll have the same.”

“And the bird?” the bartender asked, eyeing the parrot dubiously.

“You heard him,” Cort said. “Jack and Coke.”

“Jack and Coke,” the bird repeated.

The bartender shrugged as if that was a fairly reasonable request and left to fix their drinks. As soon as he was out of earshot, Cort turned toward Katie.

“I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer, not even sure where to start. Instead, she studied the gold band on her finger. This was just way too freaking surreal.

“Come on, Katie. Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

She decided to just go with the truth. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Cort chuckled, although she could tell it was more out of awkwardness than actual amusement. “I have to agree with you on that one.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment more, trying to decide which of the zillion questions whirring in her head was the most important.

She sucked in a calming breath, then met Cort’s gaze directly.

He watched her with those sleepy, sexy eyes of his, and for a moment, she was lost.

God, what a cliché. What was her damned problem? She had just found out some of the strangest, most traumatic, and frankly most insane things she could imagine, and yet she still managed to find herself distracted by his gorgeous eyes.

Wait. He was a vampire. Didn’t vampires control people with their gazes? Hypnotized them or something? Was that what he’d been doing to her? Was he doing it now?

“Stop it!”

Cort looked around, clearly figuring she must be talking to someone else. When he realized no one else was around, aside from the bird, which stared at them with beady eyes while bobbing his head, Cort’s gaze locked with hers again.

Her insides leapt. He was doing something.

“Stop doing that with your eyes.”

“Doing what?”

“Making them look that way. Hypnotizing me, or whatever your kind does,” she said.

“What? I’m not doing anything. These are just my eyes.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that couldn’t possibly be true, that no regular gaze could affect her so, but before she could get the words out, the bartender returned with their drinks. They all, bird included, reached for their drinks, but before Katie or Cort could even get the glasses to their lips, someone shouted behind them.

“You two!”

Both of them turned to see who this man was yelling at.

A short, stocky man with chest hair curling out from the collar of his silky shirt barged toward them. And he was clearly not happy.

“I thought I told you two that I did not want you or that damned bird back in my bar,” the man yelled, his voice thick with a Cajun accent.

Cort immediately stood, towering over the other man, but that didn’t seem to intimidate the short guy.

“Listen, buddy, I’ve never even been in here . . .” Cort stopped. “Wait, we were here last night?”

“That’s what I said. And you will never be here again. Go.” The man gestured wildly toward the door, revealing sweat stains under his arms despite the cool weather. “And take that evil creature.
Now.
”

The parrot squawked loudly in seeming protest.

Cort still didn’t move, except to shoot the bird a warning look. The parrot returned its attention back to its drink, pecking at one of the ice cubes.

“Listen,” Cort said, his voice calm and even, “I’m sorry about whatever happened last night, but we honestly don’t remember it. Could you tell us what happened? Please.”

The man’s angry grimace didn’t ease at Cort’s remorseful apology. “My wife sure as hell won’t ever forget what happened.”

Just then, as if his words had conjured her, a woman, a very, very buxom woman with platinum blonde hair, appeared from behind the bar. Heavy gold jewelry adorned her ears, wrists, and cleavage.

“What are they doing back here?” she demanded in a voice that could only be described as grating. This was clearly the wife in question.

The garish woman stopped short and gave a sharp scream as she saw the parrot, which seemed oblivious to the reaction it was getting. It again poked at the ice cubes in its cocktail.

“We’re really sorry, ma’am,” Cort attempted again with an apology, but he got even less chance than he did with the husband.

“Get that thing out of here. Leave! Leave now!” she cried.

As if the bird understood, it stopped and turned toward the screeching woman. It began to waddle toward the couple in what Katie could swear was meant to be an intimidating swagger.

The woman squealed again and leapt behind her husband, her hands going protectively to her ample bosom.

“Trosclair, make them leave!”

The man pointed at the door again, and this time Katie caught a whiff of his armpits even though he wasn’t close to her. Sweaty old onions. That was definitely the odor.

She grimaced. Apparently vampires did have a heightened sense of smell. Ick.

“We will go,” Cort said, raising his hands in surrender. Whether because of their demands or because of the smell, Katie wasn’t sure.

“We just wanted to know what happened,” Cort said even as he reached for the bird.

The parrot attempted to peck Cort, clearly not pleased to be taken away from his drink, but it did hop onto his arm and crawl up the sleeve of his black shirt back to his shoulder.

“It’s not our job to remind drunks what they did,” the man known as Trosclair said, positioning himself so he could herd both Cort and Katie out of the bar.

They both headed toward the door with Trosclair and his wife following, still pressed to him.

Once they reached the street, the barkeeps stopped in the doorway.

“Don’t come back,” Trosclair repeated.

“We won’t,” Cort assured them. “But really, all we want to know is what happened.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this much, jokester,” Trosclair said in his thick accent. “You should be ashamed of teaching your pet to expose a woman’s breast like that.”

The wife nodded adamantly, her hands still clutching her already half-exposed chest.

With those final words, both Trosclair and his wife disappeared back into the darkness of the bar.

“Jokester?” Cort said with a confused frown as if that label was the weirdest part of what just happened.

Katie stared at him for a moment, then actually found herself laughing, this time a genuine laugh rather than her earlier ones tinged with hysteria.

“I just hope it was the bird he was calling your pet and not me,” she said.

Cort smiled, too. Damn, he was so gorgeous.

Katie’s smile slipped and again her eyes glanced to the wedding band on her left hand.

He caught her action, his own smile fading. “I guess we should just head to the wedding chapel and see what we can find out there.”

Katie nodded. She still had lots of questions, but maybe it was best to find out about the rings first.

They started walking down the cracked, stained sidewalk.

After a few moments, Katie said, “So who do you think was more traumatized by exposing that woman’s breasts, the woman or the parrot?”

Cort’s surprised laugh warmed Katie.

“I think that one might be a draw.”

“Jack and Coke,” the parrot cawed. “Jack and Coke.”

Katie laughed, too.