Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 26
I also made a note not to invite Alexi over for tea anytime soon.
After all the weird shit that went down at the blood bank, there’s better security and additional staff employed after hours. I’m not one of them. I had to resign. Continuing to work there makes about as much sense as an alcoholic working in a brewery. I’m okay with it. I’ve moved on to other things.
The primary other thing is, Melanie and I are working together in our own lab. The idea had come to me while I’d been contemplating my all-you-can-eat buffet at the blood bank. Our plan is to produce synthetic blood for commercial purposes. As in, we sell it to other vamps and make a shiteload of money. Which will happen after we actually come up with a viable product and cover the costs of setting up and running the lab. We’re currently in the squirt-incubate-rinse-and-repeat stage of the project. The non-thrilling aspect notwithstanding, it’s loads of fun because we get to work together every day.
Greg sold his share in his business and is now full partners with Scott in Samara Health Spa and Villas. Those two do their healing thing on clients all day in the main building while Melanie and I do the squirt-n-rinse in the lab out the back and up the hill. I should mention, Mel and I are also producing our own line of handmade herbal soaps, scrubs and masks. We’ve branched out already. It’s a good thing, too, because none of the resort staff need to know we’re up here, messing around with stem cells for commercial drink manufacturing purposes.
While Scott’s superpower is heat from his hands (he melted the ice around me so they could get me out of the freezer room without having to leave any more tissue behind), and Greg’s is healing (he fixed my injuries, so I don’t have to hang about in perpetuum as a skinless vampire, flopping around with broken bones), Melanie’s superpower is hearing people’s thoughts. Greg and Scott are still getting used to it. (See concrete-bunker idea above.) I have no probs. I used to tell Melanie all sorts of weird shit that went on in my head anyway.
I’m still waiting for my superpower to kick in. I speculated it might be that I can relocate to a place simply by thinking about it. No one has figured how I managed to get from my bedroom to the blood bank the day I murdered the blood packs. I’ve tried testing my relocation powers since then. I did it in a sensible manner, that is, under the supervision of my vamp family, telling them exactly where I was planning to rematerialise. I concentrated hard for hours, attempting to dematerialise/blast off/evanesce or whatever.
I did none of those things.
I amended my intended location to the next room. I remained exactly where I was. I didn’t give up until Melanie yelled at me to stop, saying I looked as though I was about to bust a foofer valve.
Greg says my superpower is sex. He’s convinced I am the horniest vampire in the world. According to him, my vampire beastie has taken over Qetesh the sex goddess, who is now an actual physical entity inhabiting my being. He says it’s the best superpower he’s ever heard of. I have to admit, it is pretty cool. But seriously, there must be something else.
Lorenzo made us the Australian vampire council, for which we are currently trying to choose a name. So far, we’ve had The Langellas, The Stokers and Le Stats. There’s no “the” in front of that last one because “Le” means “the” in French. Also, we are so lame! But everyone has vampire fictional characters, writers or actors in their brains and nothing else is forthcoming. We’ll keep working on it. There is no way the official vampire council of Australia will have a name that sounds like a wannabe vampire rock band.
There’s also no chance of going with the names Melanie keeps pushing. She’s suggested, The Vampire Assessment Group, which was quashed immediately. She tried changing assessment to appraisal, and even admonishment. All were shot down since no one is particularly interested in belonging to a group called The V.A.G.
Oh, and ding-dong, Stepfucker is dead! Yep, dead as a doornail.
Apparently, she’d been exsanguinated, puzzling the coroner, amongst others. I had nothing to do with it. When I asked Melanie, she told me she’d come across Lydia during the crazed bloodlust phase and had drained her dry.
When I told Melanie I was aware of some of the details of the woman’s death—most importantly, that it had been done in her home without signs of a struggle, and without any trauma—Melanie admitted maybe she hadn’t been quite so out-of-control after all. That maybe she’d stalked the woman, waited until the time was right, and then committed cold-blooded Stepfucker-cide.
Melanie then informed me that she always looks out for her friends. And she also added, ‘That bitch tasted as bad as she looked.’
Was I shocked and disgusted at what Melanie had done? In a word, NO!!! Did I run off and tell someone about it? ’Course not. Instead, I thought to myself, I must pencil in a date on the calendar to go dance on that woman’s grave.
Before Greg turned me, I’d been worried about how we might end up. I’d dreaded us following in the footsteps of Signore and Signora Freakball in the alley. Eventually, I realised that just like average humans, there are good and bad vampires…and total-loser-asshole vampires.
The Freakballs had probably been assholes before they became vamps. Becoming a vampire gives you immortality and loads of other perks; however, a brand-new winning personality isn’t included in the package. Anyway, even if I end up a stinky old cray-cray vampire, lurking in an alley somewhere, my kind of crazy would be totally love-crazed over Greg. The future holds so many possibilities, so many uncertainties.
But there’s one thing I know for certain: I will love my Dr Greg Morgan—vampire, healer, fighter, protector, lover and sex-god extraordinaire—for all of eternity.
Speaking of sex gods. If you happen to see mine anywhere, can you let him know I’m looking for him? I haven’t seen him for three hours, and my superpower is kicking in again. So hard.
Meantime, I’ll be trying to dematerialise to the next room. I haven’t given up yet. But for the love of God, don’t tell Melanie!
* * * * *
‘What the fuck are you doin’?’
‘Holy Christ, Mel, you scared me!’
‘I asked you what you’re doin’.’
‘Nothing. Just thinking.’
‘You were thinkin’ pretty bloody hard.’
‘Mm-hm.’ Empty your mind. Think of loud marching band music. Lots of drums and clashing cymbals.
Melanie gave me a narrow-eyed look. ‘You know, if you keep trying to do that relocation bollocks, you’re gonna bust some blood vessels in your eyeballs, give yourself an aneurysm…or a prolapsed anus.’
‘I was just thinking about work stuff.’
‘Yeah, right. Anyway, I’m headin’ up to the lab.’ Melanie turned and began walking away. ‘And don’t come cryin’ to me when your arsehole falls out,’ she warned over her shoulder.
As she exited the room, I thought, How the hell am I going to put up with her for eternity?
‘I have no feckin’ clue,’ she answered aloud from somewhere in the corridor. Then I heard her cackling insanely all the way out of the villa and halfway up the hill.
Eternity is a damn long time, but I’d bet there were going to be very few dull moments and a shedload of good times.
‘Too right,’ came Melanie’s faint voice. She’d probably yelled that from inside the lab.
I shook my head. And then filled it with more marching band tunes.
‘Stop that bleedin’ racket!’ Melanie screamed. ‘It’s doin’ my head in.’
I added the obnoxious, bomp, bomp, bomp of a slightly off-tune tuba to my head-song, then followed in Melanie’s footsteps up to the lab, cacking evilly the entire way.
Note From The Author
Dear readers, thank you for reading the second book in the Blood Kissed series.
If you enjoyed the book and can spare a few minutes to post a review at the site where you purchased it, I would greatly appreciate your support. Reviews help books get noticed by other readers, which in turn helps authors continue to do what they do.
I would like to send my thanks to these wonderful people.
My editor, Kelli Collins: You’ve been with me since the very beginning. Thank you so much for your support and advice. You are an absolute gem. I want to send you loads of Tim Tams.
My readers and fellow authors who not only read and review my books, but talk about my work on social media, and provide endless support and encouragement—you guys are amazing. I appreciate the heck out of you!
My husband: The past year has been a bit rubbish with my knee injury, which turned into a total-body pain extravaganza. We’ve had to deal with the full-leg brace, assorted walking aids, the wheelchair, and sickness from all the pain medication. I want to thank you for looking after me so well, and for helping me with all the things…like putting on my knickers, for example. Just know that if you ever need someone to put on your knickers—or take them off, for that matter—I’ve got your back. One hundred percent.
My daughter: thanks for your patience with all my writing stuff. For understanding that sometimes when I’m staring into space, I’m working out plot points and cannot be interrupted. And for the way you follow my weird rules, like warning me and averting your gaze when you’re coming in for hugs, so I can shut my laptop to prevent you from seeing any inappropriate business. Also, thank you for bringing me my favourite chocolate milkshake with the cream and cherry on top to celebrate the completion of this book. You’re the best. Love ya!
About The Author
If someone told a young Sayara St. Clair that one day she would be an erotic/paranormal-romance-writing Aussie expat living in Thailand, she would have snort-laughed and yelled, “You. Be. Crazy!”
If someone told her the same thing now, she would not yell, only nod solemnly. Because that actually happened.
Sayara has a science degree, with majors in both microbiology and biochemistry. Working in the fields of serology and tissue banking, she got to do lots of cool and sometimes slightly weird stuff. She was employed as the manager/buyer for furniture retail stores, where she had a chance to unleash her inner interior decorator. (Interior design is one of her great passions.) And for a time, she taught English to students in Asia. (Hanging about in a roomful of extremely loud, pint-sized humans is not one of her great passions.) She has written ads for TV, print and radio; real estate brochures; website copy; and a screenplay. Now she’s writing fiction and has discovered it’s her favourite thing to do. She’s also learned that writing sultry romances is so much more fun than writing dry old scientific journal articles. No one has sex in scientific journal articles. Not the ones she wrote anyway.
When not writing, she may be most commonly found in a horizontal position reading, in the kitchen baking, in the garden planting, or somewhere else singing at the top of her lungs. She loves music and is prone to spontaneous bouts of dancing.
With regards to vampires and chocolate: she bites one on a daily basis and has had a lifelong obsession with the other. And she’s not telling which one’s which.
If you’d like to find out more, please visit Sayara at the following places:
Website
Facebook
Twitter