“What would your mawmaw say if she knew you were franchising with the enemy?”
Fraternizing. Curtis resisted the urge to correct a temperamental vampire.
“I can’t control who lives here,” Curtis answered.
“You control that you live here.” Virgile’s grip tightened.
“Hey, Jennifer, how’ve you been?” Kay’s shout carried from within the restaurant. The woman worked for him and was the only waitress on shift since Jennifer had given her notice. Actually, Jennifer quit because she fell in love with a MacGregor, Rory. If Jennifer was here, then that meant the MacGregors were probably with her.
Panic knotted his insides. His business had just started to turn a profit. Virgile’s presence would ruin everything.
The MacGregors knew Curtis wasn’t entirely human. They’d sensed it almost immediately. Though, he had lied to the warlocks when he told them he didn’t know which vampire sired his line. That connection was the family secret.
Or, more precisely, that connection was the family shame. Who would want to admit to an immortal war criminal in the family genetics? They avoided talk of it whenever possible. It’s not like Ole Grandpappy Buford came to the reunions. Of course, those reunions were always in the middle of a Mississippi August day when the sun was hot and bright, but that was beside the point.
Virgile stared at him. The intensity of his gaze was caught somewhere between curiosity and intimidation. Or maybe it was confusion. Immortality didn’t automatically come with a higher IQ. Virgile was a lackey, plain and simple.
Curtis tried to think of something to say, but there was no telling what would set Virgile off. For a moment, the vampire’s grip on him loosened, and he thought Virgile was going to let him go.
Suddenly, his entire body jerked violently, and the back alley blurred. Curtis tried to hold his breath as the vampire sped him between buildings and into the nearby forest. When they stopped, moonlight barely invaded the thick canopy overhead, but it was enough to see the bat-like features fading from Virgile’s face as he shifted back to his human form.
Virgile paced in the darkness, blending into the thick shadows. “Did you really think warlocks could protect you?”
The only thing worse than Virgile’s anger was his boredom. Not that it mattered, both were deadly.
“You never learn, do you? You just keep coming back to this moment. To her.”
Curtis frowned. “Her?”
“The sire wants to see you. He’s tired of the game,” Virgile stated. “I’d say to pack a bag, but I don’t think you’ll need clothes where you’re going.”
“What her? What game?” Curtis insisted. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here because the tavern was for sale, cheap, and I always wanted my own restaurant. Are you sure he’s looking for me? Maybe you’re thinking of someone else.”
Curtis had always sworn to himself that if a moment like this came, he would never give them the satisfaction of begging. Maybe that lie had provided comfort at the time but being faced with the reality was another story. Fear took over. Vampires had imaginative ways of killing people. He slowly inched back, wondering how deep into the woods they’d traveled.
If he ran, would he find help?
Then again, who would help him?
“You bore me, you sack of rotted blood.”
Shit.
Virgile studied him. “You would be lighter to carry without legs.”
“You know he won’t be happy if you bring him the wrong man.” It was a weak argument, and they both knew it. He took another step back and tripped, landing hard on his backside.
“You really don’t know a thing, do you?” Virgile laughed, looming over him.
“Why are you doing this? I haven’t done any—”
“But you have.” Virgile threaded his hands behind his back and leaned down. Tension radiated from his stiff body.
“I was never given an order to stay in Mississippi.” Curtis felt around on the ground, trying to crawl back to safety. His hand moved through the forest litter of dead leaves.
“You were not given permission to leave.”
“My phone number remained the same. I’m reachable.”
Virgile appeared surprised by the defense, which only served to piss the vampire off more. “If it were up to me, I’d have killed your mawmaw the day she was born and been rid of the lot of you half breed—”
Curtis’s hand hit a piece of rotted wood, and he reacted on instinct, thrusting the branch up for protection just as Virgile lunged forward with extended hands. The branch lodged between them. It stabbed Curtis in the stomach. His body tensed, and he cried out in pain.
Virgile’s expression widened in surprise, and he stumbled back, taking the branch with him. Curtis rolled on the ground and pushed to his feet, intent on running away.
Virgile screamed. Curtis swayed, grabbing his bleeding stomach.
The branch protruded from the vampire’s chest. Soot coated his features as he burned from within. Curtis had seen vampire death as a child, and the creatures never went peacefully. His mawmaw said it was all the pain they’d caused in life being revisited upon them tenfold. If that were true, Virgile would be in agony.
The vampire’s screams turned into high-pitched screeches. Curtis covered his ears as the reverberation in his head became worse than the pain in his bleeding stomach.
The death fire broke through tiny cracks in Virgile’s skin. He reached forward as if to grab onto Curtis, hands clutching into fists. His knee lifted, but the calf did not go with it as the limb split into two. The now-legless vampire plummeted to the ground and exploded into a blaze of ash and fire until all that remained was the charred leg standing in the remains of a cowboy boot.
The canopy of treetops caught fire. Flames instantly ate through branches. The loud crack of breaking limbs echoed before they rained down on the dry bed of dead leaves below. One hit close to the leg causing it to crumble and disappear.
Curtis pressed his hand into his wound, willing the bleeding to stop. Each step sent a jolt of excruciating awareness through him, and he grunted in pain as he ambled toward safety. With his free hand, he braced against tree trunks and branches to stay upright. With every slow step of progress, he knew the flames were closer to catching up to him.
“What fool lights a bonfire in the middle of a forest?” The Scottish accent automatically gave away the fact she was a MacGregor.
The woman’s irritation caused him to halt his progress. He steadied himself against a tree.
A stout wind whipped past him, picking up too quickly to be natural, only to end just as quickly. He took halted steps back toward the fire. The flames swirled into a vortex before extinguishing, and darkness fell over the forest once more.
“I hear ya breathing,” the woman said.
The smell of charred wood and burned leaves hung thick in the air. Smoke gathered like fog, rolling over to swallow his legs in the murky depths.
“Show yourself,” she commanded.
Curtis shuffled his feet, finding it difficult to walk without being able to see where he stepped. Blood seeped from his wound, coating his fingers.
“I’m warning ya—”
“I mean no harm,” Curtis interrupted her threat.
She came out of the shadows into a thin thread of moonlight. Shorter red hair framed her pretty face. Maybe he’d been mistaken. She might not be a MacGregor. She looked a little like a wood nymph. At least, from the stories he’d read, she was pretty enough to be one. Although he didn’t remember the nymph in those stories wearing blue jeans and stylish green tops.