Page 1 of Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me
1
Autumn
Midnight’s chill seeps into my second-story bedroom through the open window. I sit up in bed, groggy. I was nearly asleep. Is it the cold that woke me, or a sound? I listen carefully, watching the shadows in my room. The house should be empty; Dale is attending an event tonight. I should have told him I was coming home early, but I didn’t want him to ask prying questions or judge me like he always does.
Having to confess that the senator’s son he tried to match me with turned into a total creep would only make my stepdad disappointed in me. Again.
“Autumn, would it kill you to behave, to act demure, for one date?” he’d ask.
I am not a princess, I always want to yell at him.And you are not a freaking king.
But my mother was a queen, in her own way. My father a king. Both of them filthy rich, powerful in California, revered by other filthy rich and powerful people. But they’re dead, and now my stepfather is in charge. As long as I’m dutiful, as long as I stayout of his way and let him schmooze and wine and dine filthy rich and powerful people like my parents used to do, he’s happy.
When Dale finds out I abandoned stupid Kurt You-better-put-out-because-I’m-the-senator’s-son Van Hopper, he’s going to be pissed.
There’s another noise outside. I throw off the covers and go to the window to close the pane and lock it. I pause before closing it, though, because voices float up from the pool below. Weird—I had no idea Dale was home. But there he is. He’s not alone, either. Who is that? The guy’s face is in shadow, he’s hidden from the blue glow of the pool lighting.
Dale speaks, his voice carrying up to my window, the tone harsh. “I told you if you couldn’t handle it, you wouldn’t be useful to me any longer.”
“I’m sorry,” the other man says. “I tried, but I couldn’t get them—”
Dale holds up a hand and the other guy shrinks back, which puts him more in the light. I recognize his pale blond hair. Marcus Patrick. He’s on the police force. I thought he and Dale were good friends. But the way Dale’s talking to him now sounds anything but friendly.
“There’s still a use for you,” Dale says, almost as if speaking to himself. “I was afraid it would come to this, but the news of your untimely death will garner sympathy—”
“Dale,” Marcus says. “You wouldn’t do that. Smithy, come on.”
Dale reaches into his pocket. Marcus can’t see it, but from this angle, I can. He takes something out while Marcus shakes his head.
“I’ll fix it,” Marcus says. “I promise, man. Please. I’m begging you.”
Dale sighs. “Fine. You can fix it.”
“Thank you.Thank you,” Marcus says. “I knew you’d understand. I promise, I can get this done.”
“Hey, don’t worry, man. Let’s hug it out,” Dale says.
Marcus reaches forward, and even from here I can see the stark relief on his face. He looks like he’s crying. Shit. That’s intense, this tough police officer, crying by our pool?
Dale hugs him, then lifts up his hand, the one that had been in his pocket. Something flashes in the pool light. A syringe.
A soft sound of surprise leaves Marcus’s mouth. “What—”
He topples over, his arms and legs askew. He thuds to the concrete that borders the pool, shakes for a few seconds as if he’s having a seizure, and then goes completely still.
Dale stands over him, staring down dispassionately.
Holy fuck. Holy holy holy fuck fuck fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Did he…? Did I just see what I think I saw?
I should move. I should hide. I should call nine-one-one and get an ambulance here immediately.
Calmly, slowly, Dale takes out his phone. His voice sounds hushed, hurried, totally at odds with his relaxed stance as he says, “Yes, operator. I need an ambulance right away. My friend collapsed. He’s unresponsive.”
He continues talking into the phone while I back away from the window. My heart thuds painfully loud in my chest.
I didn’t just see that. I didn’t watch from the window while my stepfather stabbed another man with a syringe filled with…something. I didn’t stand here and watch my stepfather kill someone. This is all a terrible nightmare, or a misunderstanding.
What kind of denial am I in right now? It’s not going to serve me. I’m living with a murderer.
