Wolf at the Door

chapter Seventeen



They utterly abandoned their transplanted lives for the next fifty hours. They didn’t leave their room, not once. And room service was kept busy, hopping back and forth with late suppers, with late breakfasts. With hot fudge sundaes at midnight, with shrimp cocktails (she ate them like dessert . . . they were so plump and sweet!), with toothbrushes and toothpaste, and with various other essentials neither of them had brought. Rachael put the whole thing on her Amex; she refused to let Edward drop one cent.

They explored the shower, they explored the living room in their small suite, they explored each other. They told each other stories about themselves, and they watched several in-room movies, including the new X-Men, the new Hulk (“It’s the third remake!” Edward exclaimed, sucking down his second sundae), and the old Zombieland. And Rachael agreed with Edward’s assessment of the character Tallahassee: he definitely set “the standard for not to be f*cked with.” In fact, she privately thought he could almost be Pack in the way he focused on fights and never worried about tomorrow.

But all good things must end. And there were the dead people to wonder about.

She hadn’t realized it, but she had been subconsciously worrying about the problem of the recent murders, people who might have been her new clients but for meeting up with the wrong person. She doubted it was a coincidence, but now began to wonder if it wasn’t a deliberate attempt to sow discord among either the vampires or the Pack.

Or the vampires and the Pack.

So she needed to do something she had thought to avoid for at least a month. She needed a face-to-fang with the vampire queen.

Fortunately, Edward was as ready to go back to his temporary life as she was, if for no other reason than to get clean clothes. They shared a long, hot, wet good-bye kiss at the door to their room, and at the doors to the elevator, and down the elevator, and in the lobby, and in the parking garage. The parking garage was the best, because he’d leaned her against a car and began doing the most delicious things with his—

“If I wake up in my dumb hotel bed and find out this whole thing was the wet dream of champions, I’m gonna be superpissed,” was his tender farewell. They promised to get together again as soon as they could. They promised to call and text to shorten the time between seeing each other. They promised to be careful and to talk soon.

But one of them was lying.