Undead and Unwelcome

Chapter 27

I opened my eyes and saw a ring of tense faces above me. The first few times this had happened to me I’d been badly startled, but now I was getting used to being killed and then brought back to life.

“Ow,” I commented, sitting up. There was a sizeable hole in my blouse and suit jacket. Not to mention an unconscious werewolf three feet away. And BabyJon was still howling. “You’d better give him to me.”

Wide-​eyed, Sara knelt beside me and obliged. BabyJon hushed at once, giving me a chance to take a good look around.

“Oh, man,” I said, eyeing the werewolf who, I assumed, had driven a chair leg into my heart. “Sinclair, what did you do to him?”

“I only hit him once,” my husband replied in that faux-​casual tone that didn’t fool me one bit.

“Where’d everybody go?”

Aside from Sara, Sinclair, Jeannie, Michael, BabyJon, and Derik, the room was empty. Oh, and let’s not forget the werewolf who killed me.

“Michael cleared the room after you were attacked. Ah—it’s none of my business,” Sara continued, “but why aren’t you a pile of dust?”

“It’s a queen of the undead thing,” I said, trying to get my feet under me so I could stand. Sinclair gripped one of my arms, Michael the other, and they hauled me up. I stared down at my ruined suit and sighed.

“I must apologize on the Pack’s behalf,” Michael said stiffly. He appeared calm, but I had the distinct impression he was mortified.

And Jeannie was pissed. “There was no excuse for that. At all.” She turned to Sinclair. “You should have torn his damned head off.”

“Maybe next time,” my husband replied.

“Again, I apologize.” Michael nodded at the still-​snoring werewolf. “He will be dealt with; you have my word.”

“No, don’t.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Just forget it.”

“Elizabeth,” my husband began warningly.

“Let’s not make things any worse than they already are. Look! No harm, no foul. I’m fine. He can buy me a new suit and we’ll call it even.”

“Unacceptable,” Sinclair said flatly and, wonder of wonders, Michael was nodding in agreement. Finally, they had a goal in common: ignoring my express wishes.

But for a change I had the chance to be the better man—so to speak—and moved to take advantage of it. Maybe I was beginning to think more politically in my old age. “I mean it, you guys. Let it go. It was a bad situation for all of us. It’s not like I didn’t provoke him. Come on, let’s forget about it and move on. This Council thing—when are we supposed to talk to them?”

“Tomorrow,” Michael said, giving me a look I’d never seen on his face before. Grudging admiration? Disbelief in my sanity? Maybe he just had to use the bathroom. “Midnight.”

Ah, yes. Midnight. Not too big of a cliché. But I kept that to myself—I’d shot my mouth off enough for one night.

“So, we’ll be there. But let’s call it a night for now. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had about all the excitement I can take for one day. Night. Whatever.”

Sara laughed; she was the only one who did. But at least the others seemed to tacitly agree, because they fell back and let Sinclair, BabyJon, and me get back to our suite.

“Are you okay?” I muttered out of the side of my mouth, patting BabyJon on the rump. Hoo! The boy needed a diaper change in the worst way.

“I am deeply, deeply regretting not putting my fist through your attacker’s skull,” Sinclair replied neutrally.

“Don’t worry. There’s always tomorrow.”

Sinclair snorted, but seemed to lighten up. That was a good, good thing. I’m sure the werewolves were all badass and everything, but none of them had a thing on my husband, who wasn’t only a) the king of the vampires and b) old and wily, but c) wouldn’t tolerate people messing with me.

If they hadn’t learned that after tonight, there was no hope for them, and no hope for reconciliation. And then what?

War, maybe. A vampire/werewolf war.

Swell.