1
If Robert didn’t stop pacing, he’d wear a hole right through the rug.
If vampires weren’t careful, they could destroy objects simply by engaging in normal activities humans took for granted. I’d seen my boyfriend rip a handle from a car door and crush fine crystal glassware with his bare hands on days he was distracted. One time, when we were running late for a double date with my best friend and her husband, he ripped the zipper clean off the back of my dress. I hadn’t minded the destroyed garment so much at the time, since the aftermath of the incident had been a fun quickie in the sack, though now I always thought twice about asking him to zip me up.
I cringed as Robert turned sharply, bunching the edge of the rug under his heel as he made another trip across the living room. Unlike me, he’d be devastated if the rug were destroyed. A close mortal friend of his had bequeathed it to him over a century ago, and it held great sentimental value.
I thought the damn thing was hideous. Not only did its burgundy and navy paisley pattern darken the room, but it wasalso busy enough to induce a seizure. It always made me think of amoebas, especially after I’d had a glass of wine or two.
Robert and I had different ideas of what was considered stylish home decorating. My taste was modern and minimal while his was frilly and gilded everything. You could see why this would be a problem, with the two of us living together—not literally, since he was technically dead, but he and I shared a home.
“Why must it beyou?” he growled for what was easily the twentieth time. With a scary flash of anger tightening his eyes, he added, “Is that thieving little shit too scared to face me like a man?”
I sighed. Robert hardly ever swore, so I knew he was struggling to keep a grasp on his temper. He wasn’t the only one.
There really was no way around what had to be done, but Robert seemed reluctant to accept that ranting would not change the fact. Having been born in 1820, he tended to be old-fashioned in his ways. He came from an era when men prided themselves on chivalry. In his eyes, being my lover and protector were one and the same.
I could hardly fault my vamp honey for being furious over the ridiculous demand my idiot ex had made, which was that I meet him in-person to collect two small objects he’d stolen from Robert not so long ago. Nick really was a thieving little shit, on top of being a lying, cheating, two-faced coward.
Robert wasn’t accustomed to yielding to the demands of humans, though he made exceptions if the human was me or the requests were corporate in nature. As CEO of Bramson Enterprises, he had a great head for business. Robert could compartmentalize his emotions like you wouldn’t believe. There wasn’t much he took personally.
This, I’d learned, was standard for most vampires. I imagined they—the ones who’d been around for a century or two,anyway—couldn’t be bothered with sweating the small stuff. How ridiculous would they feel getting up in arms over minor inconveniences like traffic and terrible customer service when they’d witnessed atrocities like slavery and public hangings?
But when they did take something personally, look out.
“I think we know why it must beme,” I said mildly.
Nick’s obsession over my new life without him bordered on lunacy. Ironic, because he’d acted so indifferent to me back when we were a couple—when he wasn’t going out of his way to gaslight me, that was. He’d cheated every chance he got with any floozy willing to give him the time of day. Once, I’d even caught him screwing another woman in our own bed.
“And, no, Robert, he can’t face you like a man because he isn’t one. He’s a pathetic little weasel.”
For as long as I’d known Nick, he’d had a scrounger way about him. I could never figure out how he managed it—he wasn’t clever, believe me—but he always seemed to be conveniently placed at exactly the right position to obtain items or information he could later use to spite his perceived enemies. In this case, unfortunately, Robert was the enemy.
Annoyed by thoughts of my ex, I raked a hand through my hair. “Would you please stop pacing like that? It’s making me dizzy.”
Smirking, Robert tried to capture me in his muscular arms, but I wiggled out of his grasp.
I grumbled, “How did we even get into this mess?”
“I’ll assume you’re being rhetorical,” Robert said with a thin smile.
I was. As if I could forget.
Not so long ago, the Vampire Globalist Organization—an ancient faction of ruthless vampire bureaucrats—had tried to hunt me down and kill me. Nick, under the impression that the VGO were after Robert and not me, had used his knowledge ofmy life to aid them in their search. He, along with the thugs the VGO had sent on their behalf, had broken into the home Robert and I shared in San Francisco.
Fortunately, Robert and I had been gone at the time. Unfortunately, David, human husband of my vampy best friend, Liz, had been housesitting for us. He was beaten so badly that he was hospitalized. The crime was later downplayed to the police once it was learned that the VGO had been the ones to orchestrate it, and Nick and the thugs avoided arrest. All charges were dropped, much to David’s extreme anger.
Nick hadn’t participated in the beating, which he still claimed he hadn’t known was taking place, as he’d been too preoccupied with something else: snooping. It was during Nick’s ransacking of our home that he found Robert’s fangs, which had fallen out while Robert was suffering a mysterious vampire flu that had temporarily made him human again.
Thankfully, the “misunderstanding” (their words) with the VGO had been cleared up, and they were no longer trying to assassinate me. Nevertheless, Nick, rather than being a standup guy and returning Robert’s fangs simply because it was the right thing to do, was refusing to give them back unless I went on my own to meet with him for collection. He’d given me a few days to think it over, which he seemed to think somehow made him magnanimous. He also hadn’t said what he’d do if I refused.
Pathetic little weasel, indeed.
Nick may have thought he was being crafty, but I knew exactly why he was insisting on seeing me. He was trying to win me back. Again.
Nick and I had been down that road many, many times. I’d rejected him in-person, via email, and on the phone. I was running out of outlets. If he kept up the insanity, I’d have to resort to singing telegrams, carrier pigeons, and skywriters, although I doubted even a gigantic NICK, I DON’T WANT TOBE WITH YOU!!!!!! scrolled across the clouds would make him get a clue.
Besides Nick’s latest plan being utterly delusional—did he seriously think I was going to dump my caring, handsome, loyal, filthy-rich boyfriend forhim?—it was absurd. Why he thought that acting like his typical scheming self was going to show me how much he’d changed was beyond me. Clearly, he hadn’t, and if anything he’d gotten worse. As my late grandmother, Tilly, used to say, there’s no reasoning with crazy.
