14. A Bloody Plan
Chapter fourteen
A Bloody Plan
Nicolette
S till shaken from the night’s events, I sat in bed clinging to a pillow, waiting for Julian.
For someone who was technically undead, he was surprisingly meticulous about grooming and spent more time in the bathroom than I did.
He’d even offered to let me shower with him if I was afraid to be alone.
Uh, that was a hard no.
I would rather take my chances with the psycho vampire out to kill me than with my nonclinically naked vampire husband.
I didn’t care how much of a gentleman he claimed he’d be about it.
I could barely contain myself around him when he was fully clothed.
Unless I was fearing for my life, apparently.
That seemed to flip some sort of switch in me.
And I didn’t want to seem like some damsel in distress.
But I was absolutely distressed. What had I gotten myself involved in?
What had my mother gotten herself into? I kept wondering if I should tell Julian about the last conversation I had with her before she died.
But she’d told me not to tell anyone about her laptop.
Not even my father. And I didn’t trust Julian’s family.
I didn’t care how much he vouched for them.
If they were so powerful, how did this vampire keep slipping past them?
I barely trusted Julian. “Trust” being a loose term.
Granted, I was sleeping in his bed. But only because I needed his scent.
Now more than ever, it was crucial that the people in his world believed Julian and I were bound together.
It was my only line of defense at this point, and a weaker one than I’d hoped.
Where did that leave me? I had no idea. Maybe at the bottom of a river, like my mother.
My hand flew to my throat. I was beginning to think her accident had been anything but.
I needed to find out what was on her laptop, even if the secrets proved deadly for me.
Because what if those secrets were also the only thing that could save me?
Obviously, this vampire didn’t want them getting out.
That reminded me—I should probably check on my father.
Julian had assured me he’d sent someone to make sure he was all right.
My parents had built a beautiful home on Tybee Island, about thirty minutes from here.
I loved the oceanfront house on its three acres.
The whole place always felt light and airy, the kind of home where the salt breeze drifted through open windows and the floors creaked softly from years of sand being tracked in.
And the grounds were second to none—the pool glittering under the sun, and of course my mother’s rose garden, always bursting with color and smelling like summer, even now in autumn.
Even though I didn’t grow up in that house, it always felt like home when I visited during college breaks. Now, I felt like I belonged nowhere. Certainly not in my husband’s bed.
I reached over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. Every light in the penthouse was on, as if brightness alone could save me from whoever was taunting and tormenting me—threatening my life as if it were some kind of game.
I dialed my father’s number, and it took several rings before he answered.
I prayed he wasn’t drinking. He’d been doing that a lot lately, trying to drown out the loss of his company, of me, of my mother, of his sense of reality.
Finding out vampires are real is quite a shock to the system.
But I’d seen enough lab work to know substance abuse only made problems worse, not better.
Which was why I’d turned to yoga to cope.
Though I didn’t feel like I was coping well.
My hands were still shaking from the night’s events.
While I waited for my father to pick up, I couldn’t help wondering—had my mother known about vampires?
I tried to think back, to remember if she’d been acting differently before she died.
She’d traveled a lot then, lecturing at medical symposiums and universities.
That was normal for her. And when she was home, she’d buried herself in her research and spent long hours at the lab, even after closing.
But that wasn’t unusual either. I’d just assumed it was because she and my father were going through a rough patch.
But what if it was something else?
What secrets had she held? What secrets had she died for?
Dad finally picked up. “Hello.” His gravelly voice sounded almost . . . cheerful. That was odd. He wasn’t someone I would ever describe as particularly happy. Not even when he was on top of the world. Serious? Yes. Aloof? Absolutely. Intimidating? Always.
“Hey, Dad. I just called to see how you were doing.”
Honestly, I was a little offended he sounded even the slightest bit upbeat. Wasn’t it just last week he had walked me down the aisle and handed me over to a vampire? A vampire he hated, mind you. And what about all the guilt he’d been drowning in over the sacrifice I was making for both of us?
“I’m well,” he was quick to say. “How are you?” he added, almost as if he’d just remembered he was supposed to ask.
What was I supposed to say? Oh, things are just peachy over here.
I’ve received two threatening notes this week, survived a tea party from hell with my mother-in-law, discovered my husband’s entire family knows we aren’t having sex, and I’m also trying to figure out what secrets Mom kept and possibly died for.
Instead, I went with, “You know, just living the dream.”
“Yeah, how’s that going? Are you okay? I should be checking in on you more. Is Julian treating you well?”
I glanced around my ridiculously posh surroundings, including the signed copies of The Count of Monte Cristo and a bouquet of white roses Julian had placed on my nightstand yesterday with a simple note that read, For my wife .
And tonight, when I’d been scared out of my mind, he’d rushed over without hesitation.
He’d even agreed to eat pizza with Daphne and me.
Cyrus also begrudgingly acquiesced. I supposed that was his version of being pleasant—he didn’t say much, but at least he didn’t throw any dirty looks at Daphne, who was clearly becoming obsessed with him.
I actually found myself feeling grateful to Julian. He’d been more than kind to my best friend, talking to her for an hour about J. R. R. Tolkien, her literary hero. Julian even knew the Elven language, just like she did, and the two of them had an entire conversation in it.
I knew Julian could hear every word I was currently saying, and though I wouldn’t lie to spare his feelings anyway, I could honestly tell my dad, “He’s treating me well.
” You know—besides the whole marry me or you’re going to die situation.
But I couldn’t help wondering if I’d already be dead had I not married him.
“Are you just saying that? Trying to put on a brave face?”
Oh, I was trying to be brave. I hated how not brave I’d been earlier. But I supposed I should cut myself some slack. I was dealing with things I’d only ever believed existed in horror movies and novels.
“No. Julian has been a gentleman. So what have you been up to?” I changed the subject, trying to find out if anything strange had been happening to him without asking outright. No need to worry him if I didn’t have to.
“Golf and more golf,” he said sardonically.
“Sounds fun.” I tried to sound chipper.
“One would think so.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I know you weren’t ready to retire.”
“Don’t apologize to me. I got the easy end of the bargain. And don’t worry about me. You just stay safe.”
“Wallace,” a familiar voice called out in the background.
“Uh . . . is Delia there?” As in my mother’s best friend.
Dad cleared his throat. “Yes,” he stammered. “She dropped by to check on me. We’re just reminiscing about your mom.”
That was . . . weird. I’d always gotten the impression Delia didn’t like my dad. Or men in general. And he hadn’t seemed that fond of her. But he wasn’t fond of most things—or people.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I lied. But honestly, something felt off.
“Yeah. I suppose it is. Can I call you later?” he asked.
“Um, sure.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll call you tomorrow. Take care. I, uh . . . love you.” He wasn’t the warmest of men, and saying “I love you” was kind of a new thing for him.
“Yeah, love you.”
Dad hung up before I could say another word.
I stared at my phone, a queasy twisting sensation settling in my stomach.
I wasn’t even sure why. My dad was a grown man, and I loved Delia like a second mother.
But the thought of him moving on from my mom with another woman .
. . well . . . I guess I’d never let myself imagine it.
And I certainly hadn’t pictured it being with Delia.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she really was just there to check on him.
Julian came strolling out in his usual bedtime attire—boxer shorts.
I was so preoccupied with my conversation with my father that I didn’t even ogle Julian.
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t just hear my phone call.”
Julian’s mouth curved as he turned down the covers on his side of the bed. “I was attempting to be more human for your sake.”
“I appreciate that.” I tossed my phone aside, my murderous stalker suddenly taking a back seat to my newest concern—my father possibly dating Delia. I mean, it was late. How long had she been there? An irrational indignation swelled inside me.
Julian slipped into bed and sat close to me. He smelled like peppermint shampoo and all my fantasies. Yet I was so preoccupied with this latest unwelcome twist in my life that I didn’t even shift into my alter ego—take-me-now Barbie. Not that I was complaining. I wasn’t fond of her.
“Darling, I’m a little affronted that you aren’t clawing at me,” he said with a soft chuckle.