her favorite werewolf.
Speaking of werewolves, as I looked past Sinjin to Trent, Trent got back up on all fours and panted breathlessly before transforming into his human shape, as naked as the day he was born. He stood up and smiled broadly at me.
“Ugh,” I muttered and lowered my eyes.
“Cover it up!” Christa yelled.
Trent’s hands were on either side of his hips and his limp thingy just flopped to the side like even it was unimpressed.
“Just wanted Jolie to see what she’s missing.”
He sort of gyrated his hips until he was hula-hooping sausage style.
“Oh my God,” Christa said with disgust in her eyes. “That,” and she pointed to his unit, “is so NOT impressive.”
“Touche,” Sinjin hissed in a serpentine sort of way. Then he turned to face his idiotic opponent. “Perhaps you should dress before you embarrass yourself further?”
Trent didn’t say anything, just regressed into his wolf shape and trotted away.
Christa turned to me. “You good?”
I nodded. Trent would never get under my skin again. “I’m good.”
I glanced up and found Sinjin leaning against the pine tree, watching us with unveiled interest. “Tonight Varick arrives,” he said, grabbing my attention.
Varick was Sinjin’s boss and a master vampire of the first order, being over one thousand years old. We’d been awaiting his appearance for some time now. I never knew why it was that Varick was arriving so late and just figured it was due to the nature of vampires—they conducted themselves according to their own schedules and a vampire was never on time.
“When?” I asked.
Sinjin shook his head. “He is close.”
“How do you know?” Christa asked.
“I can feel him in my veins.”
Christa frowned. “Are you guys like…you know?” she asked and wobbled her hand from side to side.
“I do not follow,” Sinjin said.
I sighed. “She’s asking if you and Varick have ever been together in… that way.”
Jeez, I sounded as ridiculous as she did. Even though we both sounded moronic, it was a good question and one I’d wondered—not about Sinjin’s sexuality necessarily but about vampires in general. It seemed that being alive, or in their cases, undead for century after century might cause one to consider alternatives to man-woman relations. I mean, there has to be a point at which you’ve been there, done that, right?
Sinjin chuckled and interrupted my inner monologue.
“I am afraid not, Poppet. I prefer women, as you well know.”
Well, that answered my question. And, yes, I well knew which woman he was referring to. If I had a dollar for every lascivious glance or flirtatious smile Sinjin gave me, I’d be a wealthy woman. I really didn’t mind—I mean, there was that whole achingly frustrating situation with Rand. If anything, Sinjin was a relief from the drama of agonizing over the what ifs with Rand.
Of course any flirtations with Sinjin weren’t serious…
“Whoa, am I tired.”
I turned to the sound of John, now in his human shape, as he threw a tee shirt over his muscular torso (he’d already covered his privates) and approached Christa. She dropped her side of the blanket and jumped off our swing, sending me into a tailspin before Sinjin reached over and steadied me.
“How did you do, Babe?” Christa asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into his chest. He kissed the top of her head and I glanced away, not wanting to act the voyeur to their personal affection. And I immediately put the kibosh on the inkling of envy that started twining around my heart.
“Those vamps and fairies sure are somethin’ to reckon with,” John said.
Sinjin motioned to the empty spot next to me. “May I sit with you?”
“Sure.”
In a blink he was next to me, his long legs swinging us forward and back. His uniquely masculine yet soapy clean scent danced around me as if flirting with the air.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’m better—I mean I can move
Learning to Kill: Stories