Condemned

28 | Jael

Although the shack lacks most of your basic amenities, there's a cozy fire in the crumbling hearth and a checkered picnic blanket beside it.

In the center of the blanket, there's a plate of cheese, cured meat, nuts and dried fruit, green and red grapes. And two open bottles of wine, one of which is already kicked.

It's goddamn homey in here.

And no one seems to be in peril. In fact, the wayward witch, the sly shifter, and their dainty vampire companion are gathered round, laughing too hard to acknowledge the male intrusion.

Blaise is the first to simmer down and raise her glass to us. "Surprise! It's a fuck Ishmael party."

In the one breath I let out, I dial down the tension a few notches. It's still medium-high, but it's the lowest it's probably been in weeks. "Had I known, I would have brought beer." I force a half-hearted grin, feeling suddenly on display.

The dark, curly-haired vampire has a mischievous smile with my name on it. She's looking at me like I'm a blood snack or her next sexual conquest. This is very strange on both counts. It's a scent thing. A flavor thing for them. And a lifestyle thing for us both. They're not known for their fidelity to anything but themselves and their ever-changing whims, most of which I'd find distasteful on a good day. And this aversion tends to be mutual. Even the "friendly" ones will insult a shifter at every opportunity. Both entities have their pros and cons. A fight could go either way, but because of their immortality, assuming they can outmaneuver their enemies, they act like they're higher in the pecking order.

While Shilo is filling two additional wine glasses, the vampire gets up, dainty and human-like, but then she's in my personal space a millisecond later.

"So this is your Romeo?" With wide silver eyes and little couth, she loops around me, and gives me more than just a once over. She ends her probe about a foot in front of me, her gaze dipping uncomfortably low and slow. "Your machismo is the talk of the town. I don't usually crave a taste of that..." She sets both hands on my chest, and with her fangs out and alarmingly close to my neck, she adds, "But for you, I'd make an exception."

Faolan's sigh is not subtle. It sets his eyes into a fluttering roll.

The whole situation makes my eyes flare and every muscle clench. If it's the attention Faolan wants, he can have it. I want me gone more than he does. I am done being everyone's favorite tool. It makes me want to . . . bite a vampire's head off!

There's one right in front of me, and she's in the lightweight division...

Why am I so agitated? I'm not in danger. The vampire would technically be "hot" to any straight male with eyes. There's booze and treats, enough to share. The tres amigas may even be here to help me. But it's all too little, too late. Regardless of what's accomplished here, there will always be too much Ishmael.

"Calm down, Jay." Shilo gets up and approaches tentatively, like I'm about to explode and send shrapnel everywhere. "She's just messing with you, right Nicola? She's the reason you're here. Who do you think made the phone call?"

"Get her away from me," I growl, my chest heaving, the wolf about to come out.

"Nicola..." Blaise calls out in a tone of warning. And command. In that one word, she asserts her dominance here. "Back off. I wouldn't test him in his current state. He's not himself."

Truer words were never said.

A note of challenge lingers in those stormy vampire eyes. Nicola's gaze then breaks, and she slinks off like a bored cat. "You're no fun," she snarls, like clockwork, and it makes my world spin again on an axis I understand. "I thought it would be your scent to turn me off of you—and truly, it's like a corpse took a shit—but really, it's your personality."