next to him. She topped him by a full head. It didn't make a difference to either one of them.
Teri bent and kissed him full on the lips before he could get going. Her tongue snaked out and I turned back to the stage.
They were so much in love it made various parts of my body just ache. It sucks to be a hopeless romantic cursed to fail in love.
The human at the table next to me gasped out loud. I checked my watch. She was right on time.
I watched her walk through the crowd in the same mirror I had observed the demon in the other night.
Morgan's long red hair flowed around her face caressing her pale, pale skin with every smooth step forward. She wore skintight black leather as usual, pants and a lace up bodice that left her shoulders bare. The contrast between her flame red locks, white skin and black ensemble was striking to say the least.
In addition to being drop dead gorgeous, Morgan had the unmitigated gall to be a size four. That should simply be outlawed in defense of all the rest of us.
As she got closer, Morgan's vivid green eyes blinked slowly. The man next to me groaned.
No one had the right to look like Morgan, especially since she'd been born way before implants, permanent make-up and plastic surgery.
I'd hate her with a passion if she wasn't my UDBF.
It occurred to me yet again as I watched her sultry approach that she could be a Morgan with an additional "a", possibly a "le," and definitely a "Fay".
She'd been born about the same time. I'd tested my theory a few times by asking her if she wanted to watch First Knight and The Mists of Avalon with me.
She'd just snickered.
I've never heard of that infamous enchantress turning into a vampire. Then again, the records from that time are sketchy at best.
I kicked out a chair seconds before she reached the table. Morgan slid into it. She somehow managed to make her every move appear like a bombshell during a bikini shoot – totally sexy, fluid grace.
The chair behind me scraped over the floor as the human tried his luck. Morgan shot him a look – bug under pin. It was all she needed. The chair scraped again and we were left alone.
Morgan removed a thin, scarlet thermos that hung from a hook on her belt, she set down the wineglass she'd snagged from the bar, twisted the thermos open and poured some blood.
We clinked bottle to glass. Social niceties settled, Morgan leaned over the table to whisper in my ear, "All is well with the royals."
I nearly fell off my chair. I'd tried all day to keep from dwelling on the dead body we'd buried the night before. I am truly gifted when it comes to pushing down all the bad stuff I don't want to think about, but even I had trouble dismissing that one. I must have seen the prince's face at least fifty times instead of the matches I'd picked for Barbie.
Now, I could relax a little. Maybe later I would even be able to walk to my car instead of run. What a huge relief . . . the look on Morgan's face didn't merely imply that I was totally missing something, it damn near slapped me across the face.
I took a long drink.
Okay, she'd said, "all is well with the royals." Great. If everything was okay and no one upset about . . . the missing prince .
Ah.
The prince was missing, no getting around that. Actually he was dead. Well, more dead, but regardless he was a prince. Someone should have noticed that he hadn't returned to the coffin.
Which meant that either no one in the royal United States vampire family had missed him – which is a really sad state of affairs for anyone – or, more than likely, they had noticed and had begun a quiet investigation of some sort.
Did I really think that burying a body would be the end of things?
Sadly, I think the answer was yes.
However – first time burying a dead body here. Not exactly part of my daily routine, so I'd cut myself some slack for the lapse in brain power and come up with a plan.
Probably the first thing I should have done.
I hate to play catch up.
"So," I
Learning to Kill: Stories