“If you’re not drunk, then what’s wrong with you? You never act like this.”
If I were a different person, if we were different people, this would be the turning point for us. I would confess why I’m so down, and she’d do something to comfort me. That’s the stuff of romantic movies, though. Not real life. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Evelyn.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I lift my hand to flag down the bartender for another shot, but Lizzie catches my wrist. “Don’t bother. We’re leaving.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.” She drops a wad of money on the bar and drags me toward the door. She’s moving fast enough that I can barely keep my feet. I catch sight of the woman at the end of the bar and her disappointed look, and then we’re at the door. No one moves to help me, though I’m not exactly in danger.
At least, I don’t think I am?
“Lizzie?” I almost knock my hip into one of the tables, but somehow Lizzie senses it and jerks me to the side at the last moment. I hiss out a breath. “Where’s the fire?”
“You’re walking wounded right now. Every predator in that building was about to come sniffing.”
I blink, but my response is lost as she hauls me through the door and the cold nighttime air slaps me in the face. It should sober me right up, but somehow it makes me realize exactly how drunk I am. I weave on my feet and jerk my arm out of Lizzie’s grasp. Or I try. All I get for my trouble is what will probably be an outstanding bruise tomorrow. “Let go.”
She ignores me. “If I put you in a cab, are you going to go home and sleep this off?”
Ten minutes ago, that’s all I wanted to do. Now, I dig in my heels, buoyed on by the promise tequila whispers through my blood of a good night that couldn’t possibly end in ruin. “It’s early.”
“Evelyn.”
“Lizzie.” I mimic her tone. “You wanted the pretty lady. Let’s go get her.”
“I’m not in the mood to babysit a melancholy drunk.”
“That’s rude. I’m not melancholy. Melancholy is for poets and people writing the Next Great American Novel. I’m happy. Fun. A riotous good time.”
“Mmm.” We reach the curb and she lifts her hand, I’m assuming to flag down a cab. But the car that pulls up is dark and without a single identifying thing on it. I’m not even sure of the make and model.
I peer at it. “Is this one of those expensive black-car experiences? Because I might pay my bills just fine, but I do that by not wasting money on shit like this. It’s ostentatious, Lizzie. Honestly, just wasteful.”
She looks at me, and I could almost swear I see her considering whether or not to rip my throat out and just be done with this mess. She finally shakes her head. “Get in the car, Evelyn, or I will make you get in the car.”
“If you—”
Apparently we’ve reached the end of Lizzie’s patience. She pulls a move that I might be impressed with if I weren’t so damn irritated, jerking me forward with one hand and grabbing me by the back of the neck at the same time that she opens the door. I barely have the opportunity to curse when she’s shoving me into the back seat.
“Stop treating me like I’m a threat!”
“You’re not a threat. You’re a liability.” She slides in behind me and slams the door. I reach for the handle of the other door, but the car pulls away from the curb fast enough to throw me back against the seat.
She just … She honestly just … I spin around and look at the driver. A quick scan—it’s rude, but I don’t care—tells me they’re a vampire. Damn it. I lean forward and knock on the back of the driver’s seat. “Excuse me, I’m being kidnapped.”
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “You’re not being kidnapped. I’m saving you from yourself. You’re welcome.”
“No, I’m definitely being kidnapped. Stop the car.”
The driver doesn’t answer, but I honestly didn’t expect them to. They’re one of Lizzie’s minions, a bitten vampire who serves a bloodline vampire. Funny how vampire culture mimics capitalism so thoroughly, but she’s never appreciated it when I point it out. Bunny was really onto something with her rule about staying away from vampires.
“I’m not a liability,” I mutter. “And I don’t need saving.”
“Sure.” She snorts. “Whatever you say, Evelyn.”
I slump back against the seat, my brain sloshing about inside my skull. “I think I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
No, I don’t. I slide over and lay my head on her shoulder. “Fine. I don’t hate you.”
“I know.”
I poke her arm. Just when I’m sure Lizzie has no sense of humor to speak of, she lets little glimpses of it out. I’m nearly certain she’s making fun of me right now, but when I look up at her gorgeous face, there’s only a small smile curving her lips. In the darkness of the back seat, I can almost convince myself that her eyes have warmed a little, too. “I guess I should thank you for saving me from myself. Will orgasms work in payment?”
“Evelyn.” There’s fond exasperation in her tone. “Close your eyes and rest.”
I don’t know if it’s vampire magic or alcohol, but my eyes slide shut despite my best efforts to keep them open. Sleep flickers and flirts, finally sweeping me away into its dark embrace. It’s almost enough to convince myself I feel Lizzie’s fingers stroking soothingly through my hair.
CHAPTER 2
Evelyn
“WAKE UP, EVELYN.”
I lift my head from the pillow and blink at Lizzie. My head pounds in time with my heartbeat and my mouth tastes … well, best not to think too hard about how bad my mouth tastes. “I need a toothbrush.” I look around, recognition rolling over me in waves. I’ve been here only a few times; I recognize the large bed with its absurdly high thread count and nice down comforter. I’m still not even sure if vampires sleep, but Lizzie does nothing halfway. The bedroom is a luxurious dark oasis. Too luxurious for my tastes. Too dark. But I can appreciate it in small doses.
“Why am I in your bed?” I sit up and have to press my lips together to keep from being sick. “Why did you bring me here? You should have just sent me home.” I have a vague memory of her carrying me into the house and tucking me in with her usual capable briskness. It might warm my heart if I didn’t feel so nauseous.
Of course, then she promptly ruins it. “So you could choke on your own vomit and die alone? I don’t think so.” She waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter now. There’s no time. You need to go.” Her expression is cold and her voice remote, not even a hint of the warmth I’ve gotten used to. There’s definitely none of the softness she showed me last night.
Silly to miss something I’m half-sure I imagined in the first place. I shove my hair out of my face and try to focus past the hangover making me want to burrow back into the bed and not move for another few hours. “Why? What’s going on?”