Another One Bites the Dust Read Online Free

he moved, his face sort of blurred, like it was catching up to the rest of him.”

    Cole blew out a breath. “Bizarre.”

    “Yeah. And I get the feeling he’s not the type we should just stroll up and introduce ourselves to.”

    “What do you think? You want to stick around, see what he’s up to?”

    I took another peek. “He’s not going anywhere. Let’s get the rest of the posse. Maybe they’ll know something.”

    I realized Fate, which had often punched me so hard I couldn’t see for the swelling, may have dealt me a pair of aces in Cassandra and Bergman. Though I always had reservations about using consultants, those suddenly disappeared. I had a feeling this new wrinkle was going to need all our resources if we ever meant to lay it flat again.

    CHAPTERTWO

    I’ll say this, RVs have developed panache since the bang-your-chin-on-the-sink-while-using-the-toilet days of my youth. The one Vayl had reserved for our use was tricked out. A plasma TV took up headspace behind the cab. Cassandra’s couch had a small reading table. Beside Bergman’s there was enough room for a light brown leather banquette to wrap around a glass dining table. Behind it a black granite counter that could be used as a standing breakfast bar rounded back toward the wall, which held a mirrored wine case, a black refrigerator, and maple cabinets. On the opposite wall, more cabinets framed the stove, microwave, and black porcelain sink. The designer had even left room for another, smaller TV.

    Down the carpeted hallway, the bathroom looked like it had been lifted straight out of the Ritz. And the bedroom had its own TV plus a big old queen-sized bed and plenty of drawer space. Oh, we still had that RV thing going on, where the couches and banquette all made into beds and you could store stuff in every conceivable nook and cranny. But, baby, we were stylin’.

    I’d just entered the RV when I heard Vayl come to life. The gulp he took reminded me of a kid who tries to hold his breath past too many rows of tombstones. I nodded to Cassandra, who’d looked up from her book when I came in. “Cole’s securing the trailer,” I whispered, since Bergman was snoozing, his face buried in a red tasseled pillow, his right arm and leg dragging the gold carpeted floor.

    Cassandra nodded and went back to her reading.

    I went to Vayl’s room and knocked on the door.

    “Jasmine?” His voice sounded gruff and slightly pained.

    “Yeah.”

    “Come in.”

    The light-impermeable tent he slept (died?) in every morning engulfed the top of the bed. He came around from behind it, closing the top button of his tailored black slacks, his navy blue shirt hanging open, revealing a broad, muscular chest covered with black curls and an empty gold chain that had once carried the ring I now wore on my right hand.

    I forced my eyes to the ring, swallowing a spurt of highly inappropriate wowsa. The rubies that marched around their gold settings glittered in the soft lights Vayl had turned on when he woke. I concentrated on the craftsmanship Vayl’s grandfather had put into the ring, the love and artistry and power that had been required to turn gold and gems into a relic that protected, and connected, us both.

    “What are you thinking?” he asked. He stood so close I could feel his cool breath against my heated face.

    “Your grandpa must’ve been an amazing man to have made such a beautiful ring for you.”

    I peered into Vayl’s eyes. At the moment they were the soft brown that characterized his most relaxed, real self. They squeezed at the corners, as they often did when I forced him into his distant, painful past.

    “He was . . . devoted to his family, but also very set in his way of thinking.” His lips drew back at some memory.

    “Vayl?”

    He began forcing the buttons of his shirt through their holes so abruptly I was surprised they didn’t pop off. “Do you know how the Roma regard vampires?” he demanded.

    “No, not really.”