Your Coffin or Mine? Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Kimberly Raye
sense. (Was my ego hanging on by a thread or what?) “So he said I like to talk a lot and that’s it?”
He nodded. “But I think he liked it. The talking, I mean. He looked aggravated. At the same time, I think he thought you were funny.”
“Okay, now that could go either way.”
“Funny in a good way.”
I drew a deep breath and let my lungs fill to calm my nerves. Okay, I was the funny girlfriend. It wasn’t exactly the hot, delicious, irresistable GF, but it would do. “So how can I help?”
“Well,” he smiled, “For starters, you can tell me what he said when he contacted you telepathically.”
Five
A fter some mega-shock, I spent the next five seconds filling Ash in on my mental dish with Ty.
“That’s it?” he asked when I finished.
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for tall, dark, and silent.” Literally.
The notion stirred a memory of me and Ty and yum, and I quickly snapped my mind closed to it. Particularly since I hadn’t eaten yet and Ash had more sex appeal than Brad Pitt, Toby Keith, and that guy from Nickelback all rolled into one. My hormones, bless their traitorous little souls, were obviously having a major yowza fest.
“He must have said something about his whereabouts. An address. A building description. A fucking weather update. Something. ”
I shook my head. “He didn’t say anything else.”
“Didn’t you get some sort of mental picture? A visual of the place? A face?”
“Can I do that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one with the telepathic connection. You tell me.”
“I never have. But then we’ve never really done it that much. When I hear him, I don’t see anything.” Well, maybe a few pics of Ty naked that lingered in my head whenever I heard his deep, seductive voice. “It’s all just black.”
“Yeah.” He stared at me knowingly, as if he could see the thoughts flying around. “Sure it is.”
I thought about using my convincing vampness on him, but I had the gut feeling it wouldn’t work.
“I wish I’d gotten more, but I didn’t. He just stopped sending.”
Ash seemed to think. “Maybe he didn’t stop. Maybe someone else stopped him.”
That’s what I’d thought. Well, that and that he was simply too busy doing the bump and hump with a megalicious stripper vamp named Bambi. Or Bubbles. Or Colette. (Did I ever mention the slut countess who stole my very first boyfriend?)
Not that it mattered. Ty and I didn’t have an actual commitment. Sure, we’d spent time together and he’d saved me from spending eternity at Riker’s Island. But really, when you peeled away all the life and death stuff, it amounted to one measly fantabulous night of sex.
But the thing was, I liked him and I thought he liked me. Not that he couldn’t go out and have crazy, outrageous monkey sex with someone else and still like me. But it did sort of kill my whole happily ever after fantasy.
A secret fantasy, I might add.
See, born vampires aren’t exactly die-hard romantics. Rather, the entire race centers around sex. BVs stop aging when they lose their virginity. Their search for an eternity mate is based entirely on Fertility Ratings and Orgasm Quotients. Love, if there is such a thing, or even like, simply doesn’t figure in.
So you can understand why Ty and I riding off into the sunset (me wearing a killer pair of Sergio Rossi leather stiletto boots) is not something I can actually admit to anyone. Not without them thinking I’d drank one too many glasses of the bottled stuff. Bottled blood equaled slower reflexes, which equaled cuckoo to a born vampire.
At least that’s what my father said.
He was also the vampire who’d almost decapitated himself with a pair of hedge clippers in an all-out battle with his werewolf neighbor over azalea bushes (I am so not touching that one).
Anyhow, I wasn’t in any hurry to see myself starring in the next episode of Intervention, so I kept my mouth shut about the fantasy.
He nodded. “But I think he liked it. The talking, I mean. He looked aggravated. At the same time, I think he thought you were funny.”
“Okay, now that could go either way.”
“Funny in a good way.”
I drew a deep breath and let my lungs fill to calm my nerves. Okay, I was the funny girlfriend. It wasn’t exactly the hot, delicious, irresistable GF, but it would do. “So how can I help?”
“Well,” he smiled, “For starters, you can tell me what he said when he contacted you telepathically.”
Five
A fter some mega-shock, I spent the next five seconds filling Ash in on my mental dish with Ty.
“That’s it?” he asked when I finished.
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for tall, dark, and silent.” Literally.
The notion stirred a memory of me and Ty and yum, and I quickly snapped my mind closed to it. Particularly since I hadn’t eaten yet and Ash had more sex appeal than Brad Pitt, Toby Keith, and that guy from Nickelback all rolled into one. My hormones, bless their traitorous little souls, were obviously having a major yowza fest.
“He must have said something about his whereabouts. An address. A building description. A fucking weather update. Something. ”
I shook my head. “He didn’t say anything else.”
“Didn’t you get some sort of mental picture? A visual of the place? A face?”
“Can I do that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one with the telepathic connection. You tell me.”
“I never have. But then we’ve never really done it that much. When I hear him, I don’t see anything.” Well, maybe a few pics of Ty naked that lingered in my head whenever I heard his deep, seductive voice. “It’s all just black.”
“Yeah.” He stared at me knowingly, as if he could see the thoughts flying around. “Sure it is.”
I thought about using my convincing vampness on him, but I had the gut feeling it wouldn’t work.
“I wish I’d gotten more, but I didn’t. He just stopped sending.”
Ash seemed to think. “Maybe he didn’t stop. Maybe someone else stopped him.”
That’s what I’d thought. Well, that and that he was simply too busy doing the bump and hump with a megalicious stripper vamp named Bambi. Or Bubbles. Or Colette. (Did I ever mention the slut countess who stole my very first boyfriend?)
Not that it mattered. Ty and I didn’t have an actual commitment. Sure, we’d spent time together and he’d saved me from spending eternity at Riker’s Island. But really, when you peeled away all the life and death stuff, it amounted to one measly fantabulous night of sex.
But the thing was, I liked him and I thought he liked me. Not that he couldn’t go out and have crazy, outrageous monkey sex with someone else and still like me. But it did sort of kill my whole happily ever after fantasy.
A secret fantasy, I might add.
See, born vampires aren’t exactly die-hard romantics. Rather, the entire race centers around sex. BVs stop aging when they lose their virginity. Their search for an eternity mate is based entirely on Fertility Ratings and Orgasm Quotients. Love, if there is such a thing, or even like, simply doesn’t figure in.
So you can understand why Ty and I riding off into the sunset (me wearing a killer pair of Sergio Rossi leather stiletto boots) is not something I can actually admit to anyone. Not without them thinking I’d drank one too many glasses of the bottled stuff. Bottled blood equaled slower reflexes, which equaled cuckoo to a born vampire.
At least that’s what my father said.
He was also the vampire who’d almost decapitated himself with a pair of hedge clippers in an all-out battle with his werewolf neighbor over azalea bushes (I am so not touching that one).
Anyhow, I wasn’t in any hurry to see myself starring in the next episode of Intervention, so I kept my mouth shut about the fantasy.