She knew when his football team was going to the playoffs and when his . . . mom had won a pecan pie cook-off.
Jo stalked his social media so much she could tell when he was nervous about a big game, or even when he had a crush. Through his online yearbook photos, she’d watched him grow into a handsome seventeen-year-old with an easy grin that said, All is right with the world.
He was tall and strong, a world away from the tiny boy she’d carried everywhere.
Fourteen years ago, she’d made a heartrending choice, but obviously it’d been the right one. Every day Jo stayed away, his life seemed to get better and better.
Yet to spare Thad from grief, she’d suffered, willing each minute of her lonely existence to hurry by. She only slept for about four hours a night, so she had twenty hours each day to kill.
At least in New Orleans, there was the prospect of other freaks!
A knock on the door sounded.
She hissed with irritation. Few dared to disturb her.
When she’d first moved here, she’d been one of the motel’s only guests. After a month of her hunting—crushing testicles and “disappearing” rapists and fight-stealing pimps—the rooms had filled up with women, mostly prostitutes, many with kids.
Another knock. Jo traced to the door, removing the brace—she usually ghosted past it—and opened up.
The smarmy motel owner. He was always leering at the women here. Automatic probation. One strike, and he’s out.
His expression was a mix of fear and lust, his attention dipping to her body.
As long as she consumed blood, Jo retained a ballin’ figure. Without it, she turned all sickly again.
“What do you want?” she demanded. Even this guy wasn’t seeing her; he damn sure wasn’t looking into her eyes.
He asked her tits: “I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to go get a cup of coffee with me?”
Coffee must be the theme of the night. She could drink java if she had to, but it tasted awful and made her pee. She liked never having to go to the bathroom.
Vampirism did have benefits. No running out of toilet tissue, no flu, no periods.
When she didn’t answer, he finally met her gaze. She leaned in until they were nose to nose. The shadows around her eyes weirded people out; he was no exception. She told him, “Trying to drum up reasons not to kill you; comin’ up short.”
He swallowed thickly. “Oh.” Axe would be an improvement on his smell.
She wrinkled her nose, her mind drifting to Rune’s skin. So tempting. But even if Jo wanted to, she couldn’t drink the poisonous dark fey.
The man cleared his throat. “Do you, uh, happen to have the money you owe me?”
Jo had tons of cash, piled up in the corner next to her comic books, and she could get more whenever.
“If not, maybe we could . . . work something out,” the owner added.
Just for that crack he’d get nothing out of her. Lucky to be alive, little man.
She gave him her standard answer: “With your flayed skin, I’ll be able to finish my man quilt.” She slammed the door in his face.
One of these days she was going to have to start that quilt, or she’d just be a no good liar. . . .
She floated to the mini fridge to snag a bag of blood. It smelled dank and plastic-y. If Rune was toxic, then why had his flesh smelled so enticing? Even now her fangs were sharpening. Aching.
She’d sensed power in him, there for the taking. That pulse point had called to her as little else in her life ever had.
Just because he was poisonous to others didn’t mean he would be to her.
When had rules ever applied to Jo?
Her gaze fell on his bone thingy again. Why did he keep it? For years to come, she would imagine scenarios for it.
Unless she met him for their date and simply asked him.
EIGHT
You’re good, female, I’ll give you that,” Rune said as he entered the courtyard.
The voyeur was sitting on the edge of the fountain, skimming her delicate fingers across the water’s surface, her black nails glinting. “Be specific. Good at lots.”
The mere sight of her made heat rush through him, pooling in his groin. When he’d scented her a couple of blocks away, he’d had to force himself to slow his steps. “Where did you learn to steal like that?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Practice.”
“I never felt you near my . . . pocket. Are you a thief by trade?”
“I guess you could say I’m between jobs.” Her lips curled, like that was an inside joke. “You showed; does this mean you’ll join me for coffee?”
“Return my belonging,” he said as he closed in on her, “and I might only spank you.”
“And that’s a hard no on java.” She rose and squared her shoulders—as if they were about to spar.
How strange. Aside from Allixta, no females opposed him. They were too busy trying to land him. “What could you want with such a useless trinket?”
The voyeur reached into her skirt pocket, then held up the talisman. “I want it, because you obviously want it.”
His gaze locked on the piece. “It’s of no value.” It meant everything. “I’ll have it back simply because it’s my belonging.”
“See, here’s the thing—this is now my belonging. I stole it fair and square. What’s it for, anyway?”
“It’s not for anything. As I said, it has no value.” It’s merely the thing I care most about in all the worlds. The nerve of this bitch!
“What do the symbols mean?”
“That’s not your concern.” He didn’t know!