“Nouveau riche.” I smiled nastily, watching her move farther away from my family. If I could distract her long enough, maybe Dick could sneak around the building and release them.
When Missy’s fangs glinted, I added, “Pretentious. Megalomaniacal. Two-faced.
Cheap. Gigantic skank. About as real as Jenny’s tan.”
“No, that last part,” Missy seethed.
Cheerfully, I said, “Oh, huckster, con artist, snake-oil peddler. If you were any good at sales, you wouldn’t be in this position, would you? Aunt Jettie would have packed up for Florida and sold out to you. You’d be sitting pretty in River Oaks, and I would be—” Missy let loose a guttural scream and kicked me square in the chest with her knockoff Jimmy Choos. Still chained to a lawn chair, I was launched through the deck railing, landing about twenty feet away. I left an ankle-deep rut in the recently sodded yard, my head pillowed on the mound of dirt. Spitting out grass and mud, I felt a grinding throb in my shoulder. I looked down and saw a chunk of the deck jutting through my collarbone.
“That is just gross,” I heard Zeb say. I looked up to see him, Dick, and Gabriel standing over me. While this was touching in a “The cavalry is here!” sort of way, it didn’t change the fact that my parents were now alone with an over-lip-glossed psychopath who planned on killing them. I looked up to the deck and saw empty chairs.
Great, my parents were now hidden from sight by an over-lip-glossed psychopath. That was so much safer.
Dick shook his head. “This is what happens when you roughhouse. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets impaled.”
Wearing his grim expression, Gabriel knelt next to me. He said, “This is going to hurt.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked as Gabriel yanked the offending lumber from my clavicle. “Ow!”
“I told you it was going to hurt,” Gabriel said, shrugging.
“I called him,” Dick said, looking sheepish. “I thought you could use some help, or at least another witness. I would have called Andrea, too, but you never gave me her number.”
“And you?” I asked Zeb as Gabriel yanked my shirt away from the wound and inspected it.
“I called him,” Gabriel told me, peering up at Zeb. “Though I remember asking for Jolene.”
Zeb’s clever reply was interrupted by Missy racing across the lawn, looking to wrap her arms around an unmoving Dick. “Dickie! I’m so glad you’re all right. I was so worried.”
“Now, why would you worry about me, darlin’?” Dick asked, his smile nasty. “Just because you torched my trailer, with me inside? Why would that make you worry your pretty little head?”
Missy’s mouth formed a slick, astonished O. “Now, Dickie, honey, you know I’d never—”
“Missy, we’re going to have a little talk, you and I,” Dickie growled.
“Now, Dickie, Gabriel, you know you’re not allowed to interfere once a challenge has been made,” she cooed, toying with the hem of Dick’s “Federal Bikini Inspector” Tshirt. “And I issued a legal challenge to Jane at the council office days ago. It doesn’t matter that Dick is alive—the challenge stands.”
“Suddenly, we’re concerned with the rules?” Dick asked in the same saccharine tone.
“Only when they work to my advantage.” She smiled.
That meant I still had to fight. Dang it. While Dick had Missy distracted, I had a small panic attack.
“I haven’t been a vampire for very long, but I’m pretty sure I can’t toss someone like that,” I said, wincing as the wound in my shoulder closed. “I want her tested for steroids.”
“She’s been drinking the blood of older vampires for years. It makes her the equivalent of an East German gymnast,” Dick called over his shoulder. He glared at Missy. “Trust me, I know.”
This prompted more indignant chatter from Missy. I groaned, clutching Gabriel’s arms. “Gabriel, I don’t want this to be the way you remember me. Just leave now, before I get my ass handed to me by a sorority reject from hell. I’m sorry I dragged you into my weird, drama-ridden existence. I’m sorry I screwed things up so badly with you and me.
I’m sorry I have the emotional maturity of a grapefruit.”
He grinned, his fangs glinting. “You don’t have the emotional maturity of a grapefruit. A tangerine, maybe, but I think you’ve got to work your way up to grapefruit.”
I smacked his chest. “You’re joking. I’m going to be beaten to death with a hotpink faux-alligator handbag, and you pick now to develop a sense of humor.”
“You’re not going to be beaten to death,” Gabriel said in a bemused, soothing tone.
He held his wrist to my lips. “Drink.”
Sensing Gabriel’s maneuver, Dick began arguing in a louder, more demanding tone, casting aspersions on Missy’s character, business acumen, and sexual prowess. She screamed back that she faked something a lot. I didn’t catch what, but I think I can guess.
“I don’t think now is the time for naughty blood-swapping fun,” I said, shoving Gabriel’s arm away. “Besides…” I jerked my head toward Zeb. “He’s watching.”
Zeb waved my concerns away. His eyes were glued to Dick and Missy baring fangs and snarling insults. “I can’t tear myself away from the most frightening breakup fight I’ve ever seen.”
Gabriel nudged his wrist toward me again. “You’ll absorb some of my strength. It will help you.”
“It’s just that, drinking your blood, it’s kind of what got me into this mess,” I said.
“I didn’t see you complaining when you were dying along the roadside,” he huffed.
“Or when we were making love.”
“What?” Zeb shouted.
“Zeb, shut it,” I warned.
Gabriel ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end in a wild Beethoven that would have been hilarious under different circumstances. “Would you please just accept help from me and stop being so, so—”
“So Jane?” Zeb suggested.
“Zeb!” Gabriel warned.
“OK, you need to back off,” I said, poking Gabriel’s chest. “You’re suffocating me. You never tell me anything unless it’s your ‘listen to Daddy’ voice, which is incredibly annoying in someone you have feelings for. I never know how you feel about me, about anything, except that you like to see me naked, and you have caveman ‘must protect Jane’ impulses. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Technically, you kind of are,” Zeb volunteered.
We both growled at Zeb, our fangs bared.
“Shutting up!” Zeb said, throwing up his hands and backing away.
“I don’t write love poems,” Gabriel said. “I don’t cuddle. I don’t spend hours on the phone, cooing, ‘No, you hang up first.’ I was raised in a time when if you had feelings for a woman, you proposed or you made her your mistress. I think, given the circumstances, you should give me credit for being as evolved as I am.”
Damned if he didn’t have a point. But I would have to hand over my womanhood membership card if I ever admitted it.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”