How?
I’m not sure yet, but it’s coming. His day of reckoning for separating me from Michael and then my child, for driving Michael to become a cold-hearted vampire, and for turning me is coming. I love to read, and I’ve always believed a story is only as good as the bad guy. But in real life? The only good bad guy is a dead bad guy. This librarian is coming for you, Nice.
Now for this guy!
Bertha in hand, I pull on the front door of my library. My eyes meet his, and my heart starts hammering against my rib cage, like it’s calling out to him in longing. The sensation jars me and, in some way, shames me. I know he can hear it. Just like I can hear the lack of beating inside his chest. He couldn’t care less about seeing me. He feels nothing.
“What do you want, Michael?” I growl, keeping my weapon pointed at the ground. I know his guards are all around us, waiting to pounce.
“What do I want?” He points to his broad chest, and I try not to notice how good his tall, lean, muscular frame looks in his tailored black suit. Michael Vanderhorst was born over four hundred years ago, but if you saw him walking down the street today, you’d wonder where the Armani shoot was. And I’m not talking runway. I’m talking Christmastime cologne commercial. You know, the ripped, oiled-down guy with deep olive skin in a tight white Speedo, diving into a pristine turquoise ocean. Yeah. That Armani.
Despite being a vampire, Michael is everything hard and male and seductive, with a face that never ages. One look into those dark eyes, and you’re lost forever.
“Yes,” I repeat, “what do you want?”
“You summoned me,” he says in that deep, authoritative voice that doesn’t fit his youthful appearance. It was the one thing that first tipped me off about him not being human. No twenty-year-old I’ve ever met has a voice that can make my toes tingle.
I raise my crossbow and point it at his groin.
“What are you doing?” he growls with those sexy lips.
“I know you have at least a dozen guards surrounding me. Consider it my insurance.”
Michael unfolds his arms. “Mir-librarian-woman, you sent five of my men home in a shoebox. I hardly think you are the one at risk.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?” And why is he calling me Mir-librarian-woman?
His dark eyes narrow in puzzlement. “Please tell me it was you who summoned me.”
I blink, catching on to the situation.
Someone pretending to be me asked him to come here.
I hear a click somewhere in the room. Oh crap!
Before I can scream “run,” Michael charges faster than my new vampire eyes can register. His shoulder slams into my stomach and knocks the wind right out of me. The glass doors explode against my back, ahead of the blast as he shoves me through them.
Ohmygod. What’s happening?
The nearby cars, streets, and buildings are nothing more than a blur, whizzing by as the explosion nearly engulfs us, blasting through windshields just outside. I glance over my shoulder, watching metal fragments fly at us. The noise blows out my eardrums, and I scream from the pain.
As Michael carries me, my mind understands what happened, but my heart can’t accept it.
My library is gone.
My books are gone.
My life’s work is gone.
Michael keeps running until we reach a parking garage about ten blocks away. When he stops, he sets me down, and my lungs expand. The rush of air sends me stumbling back.
I claw at my throat, coughing and hacking. “I can’t. I can’t…” I double over, unable to catch my breath.
I feel Michael’s hand pull up on my shoulder, and when I look at his face, I see his lips move, but I can’t hear him.
“What?” I yell.
He points to his ear. I can’t hear, he mouths.
“I know!” I yell back. “What the hell just happened?” Someone blew up my beautiful library. Why?
He says something else, but I’m not sure what. “I can’t hear you!”
“I said your hearing will return in a moment. Just give it a second, woman!”
I heard that. “Don’t call me woman. My name is Miriam, in case you forgot.” The anger, outrage, and adrenaline start pumping.
“I have not forgotten,” he grumbles, wiping some of the debris from his eyes with the tip of his red tie.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yes. Thank you. And you?”
I wince, feeling an ache in my side. “I think you cracked my rib.”
“Would you have preferred being incinerated?”
I forgot. I’m talking to King Michael, who’s only concern is enforcing vampire law. I can’t say I blame him. Vampires don’t obey anyone they’re not afraid of. I just wish the old Michael was here right now. Because it’s sinking in fast. Someone just tried to kill us. They destroyed the library my parents built and loved. A place I loved.
“Who set us up?” I ask.
He looks down his nose at me. “Who do you think?”
We only have one common enemy. “Mr. Nice.”
“Well, I suppose I should be leaving, then. There’ll be forms to fill out, and some of the guards had family. They’ll be wanting their revenge.”
I blink at Michael. “You’re not going to do anything about this? My library is gone. Our daughter could’ve been left parentless. You can’t just leave!” I have to go get her, and what if someone attacks us?
“Why not?” he questions dryly.
“Because…because…” I try to speak in terms he’ll understand. “That was a huge violation of vampire law. I demand justice! And it’s your job to give it to me.”
He cocks a dark brow. “What gave you the impression I would not pursue the culprit?”
“Well, well, you’re talking about filling out paperwork instead of—”
“Of what, librarian? Of running around like a chicken with its head cut off? I see no reason to react in such a way. Nice will be caught, and he will pay.”
I push my fists to my waist. “And what if it wasn’t him? Huh? What if it was one of your enemies who are still sore over losing their failed coup? What if they plan to blow up my house next? Or the museum?” When Michael thought I was dead, he commissioned the construction of a museum. His original intent was to display all of the rare books and other items from my family’s collection. They would have found it ironic that a vampire took so much care to protect their legacy and share it with the world. Anyway, the construction isn’t complete, but I figure Michael has some pride wrapped up in the project.
“Then my men will get to the bottom of it, and when they do, the guilty party will pay.”
That’s it? How can he be so calm and collected? “Stella could’ve been with me. She could have been hurt,” I growl.
“I do not deal in hypotheticals,” he responds robotically.
I search his handsome face for a shred of emotion, but find nothing more than a pristine iceberg. Beautiful, but cold. “I never thought I’d see the day that Michael Vanderhorst turned into a giant chicken, too afraid to get his hands dirty.”
He frowns at me. “Your attempts to rile me up will not work, librarian.”
“My name is Miriam.” Why can’t he say it?