CHAPTER 2
Bunny
Bumpy. What a jerk. What they say about vampires is true. They’re seductive, sure, but they’re also assholes down to their… well, assholes.
Despite my inner bravado, a shiver of fear traces its way up my spine.
I was fine right up until his, “This isn’t over, little one,” said in that sexy deep growl of a light French accent.
And what was that not-really-a-kiss about?
All gentle and enticing and terrifying… no wonder vamps are so successful in luring women to their destruction.
They’re… I don’t know. Seductive is too small a word for what Alain D’Ange is.
Did I really tell a vampire to bite me? What is wrong with me?
But as I stare at the bars of the jail cell in which I’m currently imprisoned, I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that question: grief is what’s wrong with me, along with a misplaced need to show my dead parents that I can take care of myself, and a lack of interest in memorizing all the wisdom my tutelary tried to drill into me before I leapt into the fire.
Poor Morrie. I should have paid better attention, but I never considered my parents could die so soon.
Neither did they. They were cornered by vampires in a shipping yard warehouse a year ago, dead before they finished drinking coffee and preparing for a slay fest. And after, well, I upped my training, but my heart wasn’t in it.
And here I am, duty-bound to take up the stake, and I’ve made a mess of my first assignment.
If only Morrie had come with me… at least he’d be able to tell me why my stake splintered instead of finding the vamp’s heart.
But no, my tutelary’s too busy giving a lecture series on Mystical Harmonization Across America at our local university, where he works as a professor.
I can’t believe he trusted me to get the job done.
Time to be honest: I suck at being a slayer, though that’s probably because what I really want to do—I think—is to be an actress…
though that profession isn’t going all that well, either.
Nor is my survival waitress job at Café, the aptly named coffee shop on Franklin Street, where I’ve learned to sling a mean coffee and muffin, but little in the way of making my mark on the world.
Until I was pouring my zillionth-and-one cup of extra-whip-no-fat-extra-fat-no-cream latte.
That’s when I overheard two economic students talking about the great billionaire, Alain D’Ange.
One joked about how he’s probably going to be invisible to the cameras on Finance Now since he’s a vampire.
I realized that I’d just been handed my first slaying job.
Reclusive billionaire wrapped in mystery and into world domination?
Please. It was like he had Bunny’s First Kill tattooed on his forehead.
So, sure, maybe I was a little over-zealous and under-prepared when I made my way to Manhattan to slay him.
I just never expected a vampire to be so…
hard. Or… compelling. Or strong. I should have listened better when Morrie told me how vampires could fuck with a person’s mind.
I should have asked questions rather than imagining myself pirouetting out of danger, courtesy of the many dance classes I’ve taken.
I thought I’d have my parents’ wisdom to fall back on for more years. A lot more years. Hell, I thought I might never have to pick up a stake.
A great big thump of grief lodges in the center of my chest. It’s been a year.
I should be over their deaths. Somehow, though, it’s just gotten worse.
And the cold, damp jail cell in which I’m currently lodged, adjacent to a cell that homes a bunch of perverts who catcall me, isn’t making me feel better.
I turn my face up to the ceiling as I clasp my hands around the edge of the frigid metal bench on which I sit.
Luckily, I’m separated by bars from all the others since I’m the only woman currently imprisoned.
“Alright, Mom and Dad, this is go-time. If you want me to succeed in The Great Fight, you’re going to have to send some heavenly aid my way. ”
“Go fuck yourself, girlie, or better yet, let me do it for you,” a drunk in the next cell shouts over at me before chortling like a lunatic.
“I’ve got dibs,” a male prostitute calls. “She don’t even need to pay me.”
I mean, I think I could take them both down? I might not excel at fighting vamps, but people? Please. My training is good enough for that. I hope.
I sigh. “See what I’m putting up with?” I ask my dead parents.
“You told me I could be a famous slayer, like the one on television that you sort of named me for, but how am I supposed to stake a vamp if I don’t have magical strength?
Because like it or not, Buffilda Bunny Winters is just an ordinary woman with inadequate training, and sure, that’s on me. I own it. But I still need help.”
“That you do.” The deep voice breaks through all the chatter and whistling like it’s a barge cutting through choppy waters. “And now you have me, the answer to your prayers.”
“Ooh, I wouldn’t mind lying under you, big boy,” the prostitute says, addressing, presumably, the voice I already recognize.
A shiver runs through me. That voice is going to haunt my dreams for as long as I’m alive to have them, which, judging by the vampire’s presence outside my cell, won’t be long.
He's come to kill me.
“Missing me, little girl?” he whispers.
Damn, Morrie should have warned me about rich treacle tarts and bourbon, and what a voice like that could do to my treacherous body. Even on the verge of death, I’m thinking of life.
When I drop my gaze from my prayer and the ceiling, I see Alain D’Ange, arms folded over his chest, leaning carelessly against the metal bars of my cell.
His posture illuminates the muscles in his arms, his broad chest, and his power.
And damn, he looks like a thirst trap dressed in custom tailoring.
“You’re so fine,” the prostitute says, his voice strangely full. He reaches through the bars of his cell, trying to reach the billionaire vampire, or maybe only pet his expensive suit, but then he backs away.
In fact, they all do. All the criminals in the cell next to mine living-dead-shuffle to the far corner of the cell where they line up like pins facing the wall.
And thirst-trap? He doesn’t look away from me. He doesn’t move a muscle.
“What did you do?” I demand.
“We need to speak. They’re annoying.”
Swallowing is hard. So is breathing. Luckily, I’ve been trained to keep going even through loss of life and limb, so I manage to grit out, “Nifty trick, vampire. What, can’t handle people without using mind control?”
A slow smile spreads the billionaire’s beautiful features. “Not a vampire, Bumpy.”
“Right. And the name’s Bunny, not Bumpy. Perv. You must have been fired for harassment from every job you’ve ever worked at.”
“Not so much fired as let go. For a time. I may be able to go back one day, but right now, let’s call me freelance.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but he suddenly looks sad, like his whole world burned, leaving him nothing but ashes.
Damned vampire tricks. He’s messing with my emotions now, trying to make me feel sorry for him. Well, it’s not going to work.
“Yeah, well, probably for harassment,” I mutter, as I lean back against the brick wall behind me and fold my arms over my chest in some sort of mirror thing that he’s obviously making me do.
When I was processed, they took my six-inch crucifix, empty bottle of holy water, string of garlic, and some splinters of the stake that lodged in my sweater. Currently, I’ve got no defenses against the guy. Not a physical weapon, not a mental one.
A little help, Mom and Dad?
Mr. Seductive laughs like I’m the funniest thing he’s seen in ages. “How old are you, Bumpy?”
“Old enough to shove my foot up your ass.”
“Tch, tch. Language. I won’t stand for rudeness, either.”
“Then have a seat, asshole. You’ve earned a lot more language from me before you manage to sink your teeth into my neck.” Great, Bunny, give the vamp ideas. Way not to pass Slayer 101.
“We’ll work on your tongue.” And damn, he makes that sound sexual. “Forget age. It’s not relevant so long as you’re a legal adult?” He raises his brows.
Despite myself, I nod.
“Good. Well, I’m here because you’ve placed me in an awkward position.”
“Really?” I perk right up, sitting straighter. “How awkward? Can it be called dangerous?”
“Dangerous enough to the world that I’m willing to consider an insane plan just to quiet my shareholders.
There’s a battle between Good and Evil playing out, little girl.
I can’t afford to allow the bad guys to win at their schemes, which they’ll do if I don’t present an alternative that people trust, which means they have to trust me. ”
“Yada, yada, yada. Sure, you’re an angel.”
“Angel adjacent.” He sends me another grin, one that shivers in my bones. I only wish it was out of fear. “Now, if I ask the guard to escort you to a private room for a private conversation, are you going to comply like a good girl, or are you going to misbehave?”
And right there all his vamp tricks coalesce into one smooth slide of honeyed warmth from my core as he tempts me with his sexually suggestive words. I’m already picturing being tied up and spread wide while he rubs my butt in preparation for a spanking.
Yeesh, the guy could give lessons in seduction to virgins.
“I’m not a virgin.”
Damn it… did I really just say that?”
“Excellent news, as I prefer a woman with experience, though I still fear that you’re too young for this to work.”
I shoot up onto my feet. “Whoa. I am not sleeping with you, asshole.”
He gives me another one of those languorous smiles, the kind that pools inside me like primordial soup. “All I need you to be Bumps, is… amicable.”
“I’m not sucking your dick, either.”