All will be well, Beatrice. God, how she wished that was true. She’d prefer to hear Jare’s voice inside her head, or Don’s, or even her mother’s. Anything but the soft, deep, intimate tone belonging to a dead monster.
It was difficult to believe they’d killed him, just when she was starting to almost, almost not dislike the guy.
“Can’t believe we did it,” Hardison piped up.
“He’s been going downhill for a while now.” Wren eyed Bea as if he expected her to disagree, but her neutral expression was the same one she kept plastered on for family dinners, retail work, and when the guys at the meatpacking plant got rowdy. “Near two hundred years I’ve done the barstid’s bidding. And what do I have to show for it? Money, aye, but naught else.”
Two hundred years? Some of her shock must have shown, for Wren gave a tight, humorless smile under his mustache. “Didn’t know about that, did ye? Dogsbodies they call us, the daylight hands and eyes. Supposed to be loyal as Fido. Well, I tell ye, lass, every dog has his day.”
Oh, man. All of this was super interesting and maybe Don would love knowing the details, but Bea was more interested in figuring out what the hell these guys wanted with her. She tested her teeth again—still human, though the lower half of her face continued to ache, a faint diffuse prickling. Could she talk them out of whatever it was they had planned for her?
“We got everything,” Hardison said, bending down to peer through the space between the cupboards and counter. He’d piled various items—white plastic packets, glass bottles, something that looked like a centrifuge—there, and his blue eyes shone avidly.
“We might not need so much. The way Miss Dunlevy’s looking, she’s starting to develop wee biteys, just like a little cobra. Listen to me as God’s writ, young lady, when I tell you we don’t want to harm ye. All we want is what he gave ye.”
What the hell? About all she’d gotten from this was several sets of clothes ripped off. And some volcanic sex, but she hoped like hell they weren’t talking about that. If so, she was going to see just what using whatever superspeed and strength she had would get.
Even if killed her. Even if it made the thirst wake up.
“I’m gonna go to Texas,” Hardison weighed in. “Eat me some cowboys.”
“Will you please shut the entire fuck up?” Wren snapped. It cost him a visible effort to smooth his face and his tone when he addressed Bea again. “Now here’s the deal, Miss Dunlevy. All we want ye t’do is bite us, same as he did to you. You do that—and give us a bit of your own red stuff, enough to start the change—and God’s my witness you’re free as a bird.”
What. The hell. Bea stared. It felt like her eyes were close to bugging clean out of her head. “You what?” Her mouth was finally working again, thank God, though she sounded hoarse and couldn’t quite give her consonants the usual bite.
She sounded tipsy, in fact, but without the giggles.
“I didn’t sign up to be a fuckin’ chauffeur for a century.” Hardison rounded the corner from the kitchen, bouncing slightly on his toes when he came to a stop, giving her the once-over. “Hey, I been wondering, what happened to your hair?”
I’ve been kidnapped by a psychopath and a dipshit. Her lungs suddenly filled all the way, and she felt a curious sense of both mild relief—and honestly, a bit of letdown. The gun was scary, yeah, but these were just...humans.
Other than the two hundred years thing. Sure, she’d known bloodsuckers had servants, but not that their lifespans could be extended. Go figure—though if this was where it ended up, maybe Lukas would’ve been better off hiring temps.
Wren started up again. “If you decide to be troublesome, we have other ways. Jimmy here knows all about phlebotomy; he’s quite the whiz with needles. We can probably get enough red stuff even if I’m forced t’ shoot ye. Nice shiny bullets, designed specially for those like him. Young ones like you ent nearly so hard to kill.”
Jesus Christ. “Uh.” Bea raised her hands, very slowly, palm-out. “I’m sorry. I d-don’t understand. You actually want me to...to bite you?” If she enunciated slowly, it was all right. For the moment, her teeth were behaving. “You m-mean, like, infect you? With vampirism?”
“The Dark Gift.” Wren’s dark eyes held a faint flat shine, somehow scarier than red pinpricks and extendable fangs. “That’s what it’s called, and why he chose to give it to a…” The twitch was back in his cheek.
“She’s not so bad.” Hardison said it like he was doing her a favor. “A little old, but that’s okay. Like, you’ll live forever now.”
“You hired hunters to kill…” She almost said Lukas, stopped herself just in time. Your boss was probably the wrong way to put it as well. “To kill him?”
“A small fee to the Church and miracles are possible. Love the work they do, the mad lads.” Wren’s grip on the gun changed slightly, with a dry metallic sound. “Now, Miss Dunlevy, what’s it to be, then?”
“I, uh…” Think fast, Bea. The thirst tingled slightly, a cough refusing to make up its mind and break free. “I d- don’t know exactly how. I mean, he didn’t exactly do a lot of explaining.”
“He likes that, aye. It was fifty years before I found out how old he really ’us.” Wren’s mouth pulled hard against itself, a bitter grimace; his accent was getting thicker. Irish, Scottish, or Cockney? She couldn’t tell. “But no worries, lassie. Our hunter friends have made quite a study, and they like to talk when they drink. So, you just give us both a wee bite, we’ll have a bit of a ’sup from your own red stuff, and then you can go.”
“Scout’s honor,” Hardison said, holding up three fingers.
Bea highly doubted the redhead had ever been a fucking Cub Scout, and furthermore doubted that these two would let her walk if by some miracle she managed to do what they wanted. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking.” They’re not going to be reasonable. Why am I even trying? The psycho will shoot me unless I think of something, quick. And even if he doesn’t, that numb feeling is definitely dawn.
How much time did she have?
“I’ve had three whole lifetimes to savvy it through.” Wren managed to sound both patronizing and avuncular at once. His finger was awful tight on the trigger, Bea saw, and the realization didn’t make her shudder only because she was afraid he’d squeeze if she twitched. “And don’t think I don’t know what time it is. Sooner ye give us a nip and a gulp, sooner ye can be somewhere nice and dark when the sun rises.”
CHAPTER 36
