After pulling out the operating manual for our smallest distillation equipment, I decided the best course of action was to marinate my body in liquid courage. Twenty years. Aged in oak barrels. Undertones of vanilla, wild sage, and fallen mesquite after a Category4 hurricane. “A turbulent mixture of nature’s wrath, coupled with the mellowness of a Sunday afternoon,” per our label. It was our finest whiskey, worth one hundred smackaroos per glass.
I didn’t normally drink, especially in the middle of the afternoon, but as I nervously eyed the giant wooden crate in our climate-controlled room just off the main warehouse, my heart thumped against my ribcage.
Be strong, Mas!
I slid my black rubber apron over my head to protect my jeans and favorite Big Barney T-shirt, and tied it up in the back.I can’t believe I gotta cook up some brains.Though, maybe this explained how a vampire could use moonshine to control a person.
Once, I’d seen Stark take over a man’s entirebody after giving him his blood. In this particular case, the man had been the one who’d killed Deedee and tried to kill me. Stark thought it would be “super thoughtful” to give the creep a little of the vampire viva-juice. Welp, the man had viva’d all right. But more like a programmable zombie. When Stark showed up at my doorstep, claiming that shell of a person was a gift to do with as I pleased, I’d angrily spouted that I’d wanted the murderer to die. That was exactly what he did. Dropped dead right there. I’d even seen his soul just drift into outer space.
I didn’t know how any of this vampire science worked, but I understood one thing: vampires weren’t people. Their kind came with abilities that defied our understanding of nature, and their blood had power. It stood to reason that a vampire’s brain had power, too. So maybe moonshine wasn’t a drug as much as it was an antenna, connecting human thoughts to the brains of vampires? Who knew?
“Well, here goes.” I poured a generous serving of whiskey, threw it back, and then set my empty glass next to a bag of rye on the shelf behind me. To my side were a prep table, a cutting board, a knife, and a measuring cup. Next to those was a stainless steel vat on wheels, ready to be filled with my scrumdiddlyumptious ingredients for the still in the other room.
“You can do this,” I said aloud. I’d watched my uncle make whiskeyhundreds of times. It was practically in my Kicklighter blood. “Just pretend the ingredients are giant walnuts for a new fall flavor.”
I grabbed my crowbar and wedged the flat end under the top. The wooden crate creaked and groaned under the pressure until the nails finally gave way. I set the heavy lid to one side, leaning it against the outside of the crate.
“Ew. Ew. Ew…” I whined in anticipation of the gruesome display inside. Would the brains be in jars? Baggies? Maybe Tupperware?
With a pruned-up face, I leaned over to take a peek. Inside was a ball of shaggy brown fur maybe the size of a honeydew melon. I could see a little bit of cloth, too. Blue plaid.
“What the…?”
Wait. That’s not fur—I jumped back. “Jesus!” Charlie hadn’t told me the brains would come inside heads. “No! No, no, no. I am not shucking melons!”
“Like what you see?” Stark stepped from the shadows. He wore faded jeans, dusty cowboy boots, and a clean white tee. His face was all cleaned up now, and he’d even shaved.
Startled, I stumbled back but quickly found my footing. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man visit his woman at work in the middle of the day?” Stark casually strolled toward me.
My pounding heart went into sixth gear, urgingme to make a run for it. Totally pointless. I’d have to make it to the heavy metal door, pull it open, and sprint to the nearest emergency exit. Stark would catch me in half a second.
“As you pointed out, it’s the middle of the day, and you’re allergic to the sun.” Which meant he’d been here waiting for me. “What do you want?”
He jerked his head at the crate. “I could not resist seeing your face,” he flashed a sadistic smile with a little fang, “when you realized the consequences of your actions. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Poor Charlie never stood a chance. Not even with his band of well-armed companions.”
In horror, I stepped away, realizing that Charlie never made it to the airport last night. It was why Stark looked like Mad Max when he’d turned up at my place last night. He’d gotten into a scuffle with Charlie’s men before nabbing him.
My eyes moved to the crate and tuft of hair.Charlie?“Do you have any clue what you’ve just done?” Who was going to stop the vampires now?
Stark’s grin melted away. “Did you believe I would allow another male to speak of fucking my woman? Did you think there would be no consequences for kissing you?”
“I’mnotyour woman.” I scrubbed my face with my hands. This was a nightmare.
“Yes. You are. And even though I know you were putting on a performance last night, my men witnessedyour spectacle.”
His men. His little shadow lurkers. “Who cares? He didn’t deserve to die!” My eyes began to tear.
“I would disagree. As would every male in every coven across the world. It is a matter of pride, and if you had taken a moment to consider what it means to be a vampire—”
“I am not a vampire. I’d rather die in a vat of boiling water.” My eyes darted to the vat by my side. “Figure of speech.” I grimaced awkwardly.
Stark charged at me, grabbing me by the shoulders and putting his face in mine. “You might not have been turned yet, but you are part of our world now, Masie Kicklighter. And whether you like it or not, there are consequences for breaking our rules. For you. And for any man who lays a finger on you.”
This was crazier than a tiger rodeo. “Again, I’m not yours, and it’s exactly because of this! You care more about your vampire rules or how you look in front of everyone than you ever cared about me.”
“This conversation is over.”
