Page 42 of Slayer Mom
“You failed.”
I stood up and gripped the table, glaring at him. “Look, Grand Master, I was a housewife a month ago. Now I’m supposed to be your exterminator, but I have no idea what I’m doing or how to do it, or not do it. My husband is now involved. How can I possibly include him in your madness?”
“I’m not the one who marked you. I resent you conflating myself and the zombie queen. We are quite different.”
I sighed heavily and sat down. “I just want him to be safe.”
“Charming. What does that have to do with me? Would you like me to supply him with some serum as well?”
I winced. “No. I want you to scare him away.”
“He’s your husband. Is he really so cowardly that a little scare would keep him away from his true love?”
He’d stuck his arm in the monster’s mouth last night. “No, I guess not.”
“I could compel him, use my mastery of manipulation and hypnotism to force his mind to betray him. Is that would you would like? Would you enslave your husband to your fear?”
I scowled at him. He didn’t need to put it like that. “Of course not, it’s just that—”
“You’re afraid. I know. Just be happy that your children are far away. Would you like dessert?”
“Dessert?”
“Yes. There’s cherry jubilee or some kind of pudding. Blood probably.”
I winced. “That does sound lovely, but I’m on a diet.”
“Ah, sticking to fresh human blood? How disciplined of you. You mentioned something about amedic. Does your friend Gloria have any tendencies in that direction? I thought the only thing she could do was be a ho-hum host to the zombie queen.”
“She has a lot of really useful qualities. If we’re talking about people without skills, you don’t have to look any further than at me.” I gestured at myself.
He studied me, creepy black eyes roaming over me in a very blatantly interested way.
“Don’t actually look at me.”
“Stand up,” he said, pulling my chair back and helping me up by dragging me upright by the elbow. He walked with me to the clear area and then pulled me into his arms so that we were chest to chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.” He took two steps and then dipped me by holding the back of my head.
I flailed around. “What are you doing?”
“You already asked that. I am dancing. You are spoiling the music.”
“There’s no music!”
“There is always music if you pay close enough attention.” With that, he whirled me around, his feet moving with grace and dexterity while I barely stayed on my feet, and that thanks to his strong grip. I use the term ‘thanks’ lightly.
He yanked me close to him and then pushed me away before grabbing my neck and sending me over sideways.
I gurgled and clutched at his forearm. “You’re a lunatic,” I gasped out.
“If by lunatic you mean a maddeningly talented dancer, you are correct.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s because you have no appreciation for the subtle nuances of existence.” And then he buried his fangs in my throat in the most painful way possible. I’d never before appreciated exactly how strong hewas. His fingers dug into me, keeping me precisely where I was in spite of my thrashing and struggling while he drank from my neck. It hurt much worse than the time he hadn’t broken the skin. It felt like punishment. I tried to scream, but only a gurgle came out. I clawed at him, but other than his hair, it was like trying to find purchase in stone. I yanked on his hair, but he only growled and sank his fangs deeper until most of his mouth was around my neck. Maybe he’d rip it off entirely.
