Page 7 of Wanted 3

Nothing less would ever do.

3

When I woke, I could tell it was daylight outside. The Count—Vlad—slept deeply by my side, our limbs entangled, his body, even in sleep, primed and ready for another round of lovemaking. I gazed with longing at this beautiful being I would spend my life with and wondered at all that had happened since I came to this mansion.

I was still in shock how easily he’d accepted my confessions. I truly expected him to flip the hell out, and if not kill me outright, certainly kick my butt to the curb.

But instead, he'd brought me my enemy’s head.

That should have freaked me out, but it didn't. It made me feel loved.

Maybe that made me sick, but I didn't care. It made us a match, and I was happier than I could ever remember being.

He eased my emotional pain and made me feel alive in a way nothing else had, not even cutting. Looking at him now, I knew I wouldn't need my razors anymore. Not with him in my bed, inside my body and soul. He had woken up the dormant part of me and injected me with a life unlike any other.

Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, in desperate need of the bathroom, a shower, and coffee. My body ached pleasantly as I took care of my morning business—though at this point, it was probably late afternoon.

The hot shower eased some of the tenderness created by a vigorous night of lovemaking, and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled the details of being with him. It took everything I had not to crawl back into bed to see how deeply he actually slept during the day, but instead, I dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweats and headed downstairs for coffee.

I grabbed my phone on the way, checking missed calls, and sighed. Over twenty-three. Two from Don—pre-beheading, obviously, the rest from my father. The sight of Don’s number made me think of the head in the kitchen, and I realized I had to clean it up before Jeremy woke. God, if he was already up, the sight of Don's head would send him to therapy for the rest of his life.

But when I entered the kitchen, it was spotless. Not a drop of blood, and no sign of severed heads.

Leonard had clearly gotten here first. Bless that man, whatever he was.

I did, however, notice the large chest he’d brought back from his trip stood in the corner of the kitchen by the pantry.

As the housekeeper, it would be inappropriate to snoop.

As Vlad's… what was I? His girlfriend? Lover? Mate? At any rate, my role had changed overnight, so that had to change the rules, right?

Justifying my curiosity, I lifted the lid an inch to peek inside.

Black smoke billowed out at once, in tendrils that looked like long, dark curling fingers. Startled, I slammed the lid shut, my heart pounding in my chest.

And then I laughed. I laughed because what else can you do when you fall into an alternate reality where vampires are real and shadow creatures live in boxes in your kitchen? This was my life now, and as mildly terrifying as it was, it was even more exhilarating. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as all the possibilities of my new life settled into me.

I was untouchable.

Don was dead.

My father couldn't hurt me anymore.

Jeremy would be safe.

A giddy relief washed over me and even when my phone rang and I saw my father’s number appear, my mood didn’t change.

A new courage took hold, and I answered the call with a confidence born of blood and death.

"Where the hell is my son?" my dad said, his voice slurred from alcohol.

"You don't get to talk to me like that anymore," I informed him, no longer scared of this weak, pathetic man.

“I can talk however the hell I want. Bring Jeremy home, or I’ll send the cops your way."

I just laughed. "Your cop buddies think you're a joke, you know that, right? They talk shit about you behind your back. They mock your drunk ass and they’re relieved you're no longer on the force."

I didn't know if what I said was true, but it didn't really matter. My words were venomous arrows that found their mark in my father's fragile ego, shattering pieces of it.

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