Page 68 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

“Like the Navy SEALs expressions ‘Spray and Pray,’ or ‘Escape and Evade,’ or that well-known ‘Shock and Awe.’”

“Exactly,” Zeb concurred, adding, “In addition to wanting to continue the battle, they won’t abandon a long-held nest, and this is a valuable location to them. It probably won’t be until tomorrow, though. They’ll need time to regroup and add other Lucies to their troop. Without a leader, there will be initial chaos.”

Jogeir nodded his understanding, and Regina, now that she was over her initial pique, inserted, “We’ll be on the alert today, however, just in case.” Clearly, Regina was asserting her authority.

That was all right with Zeb.

Jogeir gathered his team, and they were soon gone on the scouting mission.

“Okay, Regina, we have some decisions to make. Cook or clean?”

“What?”

“Are you going to make some kind of meal for all of us, or are you going to lead the project to clean up the slop outside?”

She frowned at him. “I pick slop.”

Chapter 14

Home, Sweet, Home . . .

Slime, slime, slime.

Phew, phew, phew!

She had only herself to blame. She knew that, but still she persisted in muttering rude insults regarding Zeb, and zapping curses on various parts of his anatomy.

Not that he could hear her or that her curses worked. She was in the shower with its rain forest showerhead, washing away foul-smelling slime and Lucie cooties, with tepid water since a large number of vangels, those most covered with the goop, had already depleted the hot water. In the end, they’d given up on digging holes and shoveling the slime in. Instead, they shoveled ashes, which were in plentiful supply thanks to the volcano, over the slime. It would have to do.

Regina expected to come away smelling fresh as . . . well, rain, after her shower, half hoping that soap would be the answer to Zeb’s compelling scent. But, no, there was just Irish Spring body wash. If it was in all the bathrooms, the whole company would be smelling like a pine forest, she thought, smiling to herself. Regardless, it was good to be clean.

The washing machine was also running nonstop for the worst of the vangels’ apparel. Zeb had given them all clothing from his own supply to use in the meantime. After her shower, she donned sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and her combat boots. It wouldn’t do to walk barefoot on these stone floors.

Despite their seemingly relaxed attitudes, all the vangels kept their weapons ready at all times. Regina’s cloak with all the knives she’d retrieved from the battlefield lay across a hamper. Later, she would clean and sharpen all her blades.

The delicious smell of tomato sauce, which Zeb was making in a huge pot, wafted through all the nooks and crannies of the “cave,” heavy on the garlic and basil.

“I thought vampires were supposed to be repelled by garlic,” she had commented when she’d seen him chopping numerous garlic cloves.

“I’m not that kind of vampire,” he had replied, waggling his eyebrows at her. Which caused her to notice, for about the hundredth time, his incredibly long eyelashes.

It was odd to be doing these mundane tasks in the midst of a war, but Regina and Zeb had set up a schedule whereby twenty-five vangels would be on guard duty, outside, all around the volcano setting, while the other twenty-five inside, rested. There would be a rotation every four hours to make sure the vangels were alert. Jogeir was out there now, having not yet left for Afghanistan. Zeb intended to take the ten-to-two shift; she would be two-to-six a.m. By six, they were all to be on alert for returning vangels.

It was only five p.m. now, and Regina heard her stomach rumble with hunger. She made her way to the kitchen where Zeb, with a chef’s apron over his jeans and T-shirt, was ladling out sauce from a big pot onto heavy paper plates of fettucine. A long tray of warm garlic bread sat on the counter.

There were about fifteen vangels sitting around the living room, eating, or reclining on couches, or even the floor. The rest of the twenty-five were back in the other lounge or taking a quick nap. Trond had told her one time that SEALs had a knack for sleeping whenever they could grab a few minutes while on a live op, even standing up. She felt like she could do that herself.

Unable to stifle a wide yawn, she sat down on a stool by the island to watch Zeb work. He turned to look at her, having doled out what seemed to be the last plate to be filled, for now. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Famished,” she said, and watched as he plated pasta and sauce and topped it with a slice of bread. He also gave her a small bottled water, which was marvelously cool. “Umm, this is really good,” she said taking the first bite. “What is it?”

“Pasta Puttanesca, which means ‘in the style of a prostitute.’ It was a dish that was quick and easy for the ladies of the night to make between clients.” Zeb sat down beside her on another stool and took a swig of his own bottled water. He had taken a shower as well, and smelled not of Irish Spring, but of fresh rain.

“You’re making that up.”

“No, it’s the truth,” he said. “There’s no meat in it. So, it wouldn’t spoil while . . . you know?” More eyebrow waggling.

She continued to eat. Maybe it was just that she was so hungry, but the mixture of tomatoes, garlic, basil, black olives, capers, cheese, and, yes, anchovies, which she usually hated, was salty and spicy and better than anything she’d ever eaten. She moaned with appreciation at every bite.