“You can’t be serious.”
I looked with a mixture of revulsion and disbelief at my reflection in the full-length mirror Bones had propped up against the wall. Five hours at Hot Hair Salon had given me an exact understanding of what it was like to go through the washer and dryer. I’d been washed, waxed, plucked, snipped, blown dry, manicured, pedicured, sloughed, exfoliated, curled, primped, and then covered in shades of makeup. I hadn’t even wanted to look at myself by the time Bones had returned to pick me up, and I’d refused to speak to him on the way back to the cave. Finally seeing the end result made me break my silence.
“There is no way I’m going out in public like this!”
It seemed while I was being tormented at the salon, Bones had been out shopping. I didn’t ask where he got the money from, images of old folks with their necks bleeding and their wallets missing dancing in my head. There were boots, earrings, push-up bras, skirts, and something he swore to me were dresses but only looked like pieces of dresses. I was wearing one of those now, a bright green and silver number cut about four inches above my knees and way too low in the front. That, combined with my new leather boots, curled hair, and makeup, made me feel like a twenty-dollar whore.
“You look smashing.” He grinned. “Can’t hardly stop myself from ripping your clothes off.”
“You think this is funny, don’t you? This is all a big…bloody chuckle-fest to you!”
He sprang forward. “This isn’t a joke, but it is a game. Winner takes all. You need every advantage you can get. If some poor undead fellow is busy looking at these”—he flipped the material of my dress outward to get a peek before I slapped his hand away—“then he won’t be looking for this.”
Something hard was pressed against my belly. I wrapped my hands around it and squared my shoulders.
“Is that a stake, Bones, or are you just happy with my new dress?”
He gave me a grin that was filled with more innuendo than an hour’s worth of conversation.
“In this case, it’s a stake. You could always feel around for something more, though. See what comes up.”
“This better be part of that dirty-talk training, or we’re going to give this new stake a go.”
“Now, pet, that’s hardly a romantic rejoinder. Concentrate! You do look great, by the way. That bra does wonders for your cleavage.”
“Slime,” I spat, resisting the urge to glance down and see for myself. Later, when he wasn’t looking, I’d check it out.
“Moving on, Kitten. Put the stake in your boot. You’ll find there’s a loop for it.”
I reached down and found a leather circle inside each boot. The stake fit snugly inside, concealed yet within easy reach. I’d wondered where I was supposed to hide a weapon in this skin-tight dress.
“Put your other one away as well,” he instructed me. Complying, I was now outfitted as Cat, the Vampire-Killing Slut.
“That loop was a great idea, Bones.”
The compliment flowed off my tongue, and I regretted it at once. He didn’t need praise. This wasn’t a friendship, it was a business arrangement.
“Done it myself a time or two. Hmmm, still something not right, something missing….”
He walked in a circle around me. I held still as he scrutinized my every angle. It was nerve-wracking, to say the least.
“I’ve got it!” he declared suddenly, snapping his fingers in triumph. “Take your knickers off.”
“What?” Did that mean what I think it did?
“Your knickers. You know—panties, underwear, muff-huggers, nasty nets—”
“Are you out of your mind?” I interrupted. “This is where I draw the line! What does my underwear have to do with anything? I am not flashing my…my crotch at someone, no matter what you say!”
He spread his hands toward me in a conciliatory way. “Look, you don’t have to flash anyone anything. Believe me, a vampire will know right off without you showing him that your box is unwrapped.”
Pushing the crude imagery out of my mind before I exploded, I jumped right in with both feet. “And just how’s he supposed to know that? No panty lines?”
“The scent, pet,” he replied instantly. That did it. My face must have been every shade of crimson. “No vamp in the world could mistake that. Like dangling bloomin’ catnip in front of a kitty. Bloke gets a good whiff of—”
“Will you stop?” I fought to alleviate my intense embarrassment. “I get the picture! Stop drawing it, okay? God, but you are—are…profane!”
With anger as a buffer, I could look him in the eye again.