One hand wound into her hair, holding her. His head fell back and his spine arched up, closer to her. His other hand found a stake under the edge of the sheet. He curled his fingers around it.
Isleen pulled away, her body moving so fast that he couldn’t follow, seeing only a wisp of movement and the vampire standing in the shadows at his feet. The stake was in his hand, still hidden beneath the sheet. He’d missed his chance. Rick laughed, a biting bark of sound; he could almost see the laughter float around the barn, bitter as the taste of weeds and ash. Cold as the vampire’s lips on his throat. Colder than the feel of her dead fingers on his flesh.
She held his eyes with hers, which glowed like a deer’s in headlights; her blond hair fell around her face like a veil. He heard a click to the side, and a lamp lit the barn. Isleen was revealed out of the dusky shadows, dressed in a white lace gown. It was stained with blood, crusty brown overlaid with fresh blood, scarlet and damp. The fresh blood was his, he figured. The old stuff was probably from some other poor bastard she had trapped and chained up. Isleen’s eyes seemed to fix him in place, holding him as surely as her hand and fangs had only moments before.
He heard the roar of a generator in the distance. The sound of wind in the foliage outside. The twitter of birds nesting in the rafters overhead. He’d missed his chance. And he laughed again once, the sound crazy, harsh as graveyard sobs.
Loriann handed Isleen a small cup. Isleen spit into it. My blood. She’s spitting out my blood. With one sharp canine tooth, the vampire pierced her finger and held it over the cup, allowing her cold, dead blood to drip down into his own blood, mixing them. The drops seemed to echo into the barn, distinct and ominous, flying like bats’ wings, darting into the shadows.
Isleen handed Loriann the cup, then licked her finger and her lips, still holding his eyes. With a poof of sound, the vamp was gone. His arousal drained away. Tears he hadn’t known had fallen dried on his face.
Loriann turned on more lights, and he could see clearly. He should have been embarrassed about the little witch watching while Isleen . . . But he wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to care about much tonight except his failure to stake the vamp. He turned his head, watching the witch as she moved around the small space, setting out her tools. She knelt at his side and handed him a plastic bottle of water. He drank. His throat ached with the movement. Isleen hadn’t been gentle with him. When the bottle was empty, he said, “Is she gone?”
“Yes. She’ll be back at midnight for me to finish the spell. And she’ll bring Jason. It’ll be your only chance.”
He sat up slowly, belly muscles protesting, bringing the stake with him. “You didn’t mean for me to stake her just now?”
Her eyes widened. “No. No, not until Jason is here.”
“Mighta been nice to know that.”
“I didn’t think—Oh my God.” She turned away, holding herself around the waist, her hair sliding forward, hiding her face. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Okay. Never mind.” Her tone said that she was forgiving herself and him for the near miss. She stood straight and went back to work. “We don’t have much time. Do I have to chain you to the stone tonight?”
“No. I’ll be a good little human vamp-snack.” He could hear the bitterness and anger in his tone, but the hopelessness that had settled on him like a grave shroud had lightened. He had another chance. “Speaking of which, I smell food.”
“I brought you some Popeyes chicken, biscuits, and sides. A gallon of tea. Hope you like it sweet.”
“Yes. I’m starving. Can I eat while you work?”
“No. So eat fast. And we have to talk. I need to tell you how the spell works so you can pick the right time to . . . to kill her.” Loriann placed a bucket of chicken at his side, and he dug in, listening, wondering at himself and at the way he could plan the death of an insane, undead monster with such enthusiasm.