Thierry. “You should have killed yourself when you had the chance.”
“Peter,” I took a few steps closer to the stage. “You want me. Why don’t you leave him alone and come and get me?”
He stared down at me. “Oh, I’ll have my revenge, darlin’. Don’t think I won’t. And you’ll never see it coming. But I don’t want you to forget about me in the meantime.” He glanced out at Quinn, then back at
Thierry. “Two men, huh? Aren’t you the lucky one?”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. “Go to hell.”
Peter laughed louder. “Why don’t I make things a little easier for you?”
He turned and plunged a wooden stake into Thierry’s chest. Thierry gasped, his silver eyes widened,
and he fell to his knees. I ran up to the stage.
“Thierry!” I reached up to touch his face.
“I’m sorry, Sarah—” His pain-filled words sliced through me like knives. “—I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
And then he dissolved before my very eyes. His handsome face melting into nothingness, his body collapsing on itself until there was nothing left of him but a dark stain on the stage. I could hear Peter laughing. Quinn tried to pull me into his embrace but I pushed him away.
I shook my head and felt the hot tears cutting lines down my face. And then I screamed—
“—NOOO!!!”
I woke up and stood up from the table at the same time, flailing about from the intensity of the dream. I hit something and heard an “oof” sound. And then a crash. Followed closely by a splash.
My heart beat wildly and my breathing came in rapid bursts. I glanced around as I got my bearings, my hands still clenched into fists. Ready to fight.
Still in Starbucks. It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
I let out a long sigh of relief.
“That was a double espresso moccaccino, I’ll have you know,” a female voice said. “Five bucks and now it’s gone. Oh God. Look at my shoes.”
I glanced in the direction of the voice. A blond woman glared at me. I looked down. Next to her stained
Manolos was a mocha-colored puddle.
“I am so sorry.” My voice was shaky and a little raspy. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt it in my eyeballs. “I’ll buy you a replacement. For the coffee, that is. A little . . . club soda might be able to clean your shoes up. Are those suede?”
She jabbed a finger at me. “You have something stuck to your face.”
“I do?” I reached up to feel around and touched paper. I peeled it off my forehead to find that it was a yellow sticky note with Amy’s handwriting on it.
Had to go. Didn’t want to wake you, looked like you were having a good dream. Talk later . . . Amy
She stuck a sticky note to my forehead while I was sleeping.
I wish I could say it was the first time she’d ever done that.
I glanced at the girl. She was pretty. Somewhere in her midtwenties, with long hair—alternating streaks of darker blond and platinum—done in two haphazard braids hanging well past her shoulders. She wore a three-quarter-length red leather coat. One of her high-heeled, stained shoes tapped angrily against the tiled floor.
Those were some nice shoes.
Too bad they were now ruined.
I glanced at the table. Amy had left me my coffee. Alas, not a moccaccino. It was a tall regular coffee that smelled like it might have brushed past some hazelnuts somewhere between here and Colombia.
I grabbed it and glanced at the angry blonde, feeling rather sheepish and still shaky from my visit from the nightmare fairy.
“Okay, then.” I nodded. “Lovely to meet you.”
“We didn’t meet.”
I smiled and nodded again. Usually the best way to deal with an unfortunate situation just before you escaped.
And then I grabbed my bags and left. Pushing open the front door of Starbucks and feeling the cold air hit my face.
Lenny tried to be all subtle again in following me. He kept far enough back that after a minute, I didn’t notice him at all as I hurried along the street.
“Hey!” a voice called out behind me. “Stop!”
I glanced over my shoulder. It was the blonde.Oh, great . Probably wanted me to pay for her shoes.
Well, it wasn’t as though I’d banged into her on purpose. I picked up my pace. All I wanted to do was get back to George’s. That dream had seriously freaked me out. I needed recovery time away from hunters and pissed-off, caffeinated fashionistas.
Her heels clicked against the cold pavement as she began to chase after me.
I turned the next corner and waded through a small swarm of warmly dressed sidewalk stragglers and looked over my shoulder just as I tossed my untouched coffee into a passing garbage can. It was too hard to juggle with my other bags. Even though the stupidly bright sun made me a bit weary, my slightly increased vampire speed (plus comfy footwear) helped me to move at a definite clip.
But moccaccino-girl was still coming.
After a minute when I couldn’t lose her, I stopped and turned around. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re following me, but—”
She skidded to a halt, panting a little, and held up a shopping bag in front of her. “You left this in
Starbucks. Damn, you sure can walk fast.”
Talk about sheepish. “Oh,” I took the bag from her. “Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t realize what you wanted.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. Nice store, by the way.” She raised a matching bag of her own.
I smiled—closed mouth so as not to show off mypearly frights to an unsuspecting stranger. “Great minds think alike. And sorry about the shoes. Really.”