Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 7

  Melanie got quiet. That was bad. She was rarely silent. When she got that way, it meant she was so furiously irate, she couldn’t even form words. Then, after she’d finished being silent, things would turn to shit.

  The vampire in the room observed the three of us. He spent the longest time contemplating Melanie. Never having seen her seething and silent, he somehow intuited the need to talk her down, as it were.

  ‘Melanie. We made the decision we believed was right at the time. I apologize if you’re hurt by that. On the flip side, you neglected to inform us about how bad your illness was. You also said and did things that hurt Scott, believing that what you were doing was best for him. Which I’m sure, if you ask him, he’ll vehemently disagree with.’ Greg paused to let that nugget sink in before continuing in his stern, no-nonsense tone. ‘We’ve all made mistakes and kept things from one another. That time is over. At present, we need to move on and see if we can fix this situation.’

  There was a brief silence, then Melanie gave a small nod. Wow. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by Greg’s stern side.

  ‘Mel, I can’t heal you,’ Greg said now. ‘However, I can turn you. I think.’

  ‘You think?’ Melanie queried.

  ‘I haven’t done it before. I understand the principle from when it was done to me. But since I have no actual experience, there’s a risk that things could go wrong.’

  Melanie sighed. ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘In the beginning, you’ll be pretty much out of control. The hunger, the bloodlust—it consumes you. We’ll keep you contained and fed so that you won’t hurt anyone.’

  Melanie nodded, wide-eyed.

  ‘One thing you’ll need to understand is that once we get you through the initial stage, you must keep yourself fed well. It’s possible to subsist on the blood of animals. Unfortunately, it’s extremely unappetizing, hard to swallow if you like, compared with human blood. Ana brings me leftover blood from work and possibly could do the same for you.’ A nod from me, and he went on. ‘If things get desperate, it’s possible to mesmerise someone, take a small amount of their blood and leave them none the wiser. That’s something to be done only in extenuating circumstances and once you’re fully in control of your urges.’

  Melanie then asked a bunch of questions. Basically, the same ones Scott and I had asked upon learning Greg had become a vampire. Greg explained that Melanie could drink digitalis tea to avoid being combustible in the sun. About how she would still have a reflection in the mirror. That garlic, churches, crucifixes and holy water would pose no problems. That if she was injured, she could heal by consuming blood. He also explained that since his maker, Desislava, hadn’t given him any information about how to kill a vampire, he guessed that decapitation and burning might be ways to do it. He also told Melanie about how he’d eventually driven a stake through Desislava’s heart, which had killed the evil bitch.

  When Melanie got around to questioning the circumstances behind Greg’s disappearance and turning, she learnt that Desislava had been known to us as Alicia. Had been Greg’s girlfriend for a short time. And had wanted to make the situation a forever kind of thing.

  Except when vampires talked ‘forever’ it meant something more serious than when mere mortals said it. It meant, like, for-fucking-ever!

  ‘Alicia?!’ Melanie was yelling again. ‘You mean Alicia the bitchface from the conference when you two first met? The one with the,’ Melanie made claw hands in the air, ‘talons with the bling? And the bad feckin’ attitude?’

  Greg answered in the affirmative, then glanced at me with a hint of smug amusement on his face.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said. ‘I told Mel all about her.’ I’d never spoken to Alicia, but from observing her interaction with Greg on the day I’d first bumped into him, I could tell she was a monumental bitch. Plus, she’d been Greg’s girlfriend. And from the moment I met Greg, I’d somehow intuited that he should have been mine.

  Also, fingernails that long and pointy with bits of bling stuck on them and little chains dangling here and there were plain wrong, hygienically speaking. And they inhibited you from using your hands for certain tasks, which was utterly stupid, practically speaking. In addition, Alicia had turned out to be a vicious, sadistic, evil monster, so if I’d said some terribly bad stuff about her without really knowing her—sue me. My level of shame with regards to my judgmental attitude was in the range of zero to minus ten.

  Melanie was sitting across the way, gobsmacked. Seemed out of all the things she could’ve been shocked about, this Alicia-Desislava-ex-girlfriend thing was the one she’d picked. ‘Well fuck a duck and see what hatches!’ she said. Then yawned loudly. She looked utterly wrecked, as if she needed to sleep for about ten days straight.

  ‘Mel, do you wanna call it a night and pick this up tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. I’m knackered.’

  We stood. She gave Scott a look. It was not a dagger-eyed one. Neither was it lovey-dovey. At least she’d looked at him. That had to be a good sign, or at least a fair-to-middling one. Melanie gave Greg a hug before following me to the guest room.

  When she smirked slightly at the mice on their swings, I knew Scott and I might not be forgiven just yet, but there was hope.

  Chapter Eight

  Greg and I shuffled into the kitchen late the next morning. To be honest, I was the only one shuffling. We’d stayed up most of the night talking quietly under the covers. I’d cried not only about Melanie’s situation, but because I’d felt so bad about keeping secrets from her. After only a couple hours of sleep, Greg—who didn’t really need much sleep at all—strode in looking strong, sure and on top of his game. I, on the other hand, looked and felt like someone had warmed up death. After shaking the shit out of it and punching it in both eyes.

  Scott had stayed over, spending the night on the couch. He and Melanie were currently sitting at the kitchen table, talking urgently.

  They both spared Greg and me a quick glance. Melanie even threw in a smile. It was half-baked but it was there. She continued with what she’d been saying to Scott. ‘What kind of future could I have given you…even if I did get better? They took everything. I couldn’t have given you any children.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Scott asked. ‘You were adamant that you didn’t want babies anyway.’

  That was a thing they used to do: Scott would tease Melanie, saying that he wanted fifteen kids, and Melanie would tell him creatively how he could make them himself. ‘Cause I ain’t squeezing fifteen blighters outta me vag!’ she’d been heard saying.

  ‘I was just giving you shit.’ Melanie sighed, her eyes filling with tears. There was a pause before she croaked out, ‘I would have had as many babies as you wanted.’

  There was a beat of silence. Pained silence.

  Then Scott was up and out of his chair, pulling Melanie out of hers and embracing her. ‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. I don’t care about anything else but you. Nothing else matters. Nothing.’

  Melanie blubbered against Scott’s chest, saying she was so sorry for hurting him.

  Greg and I slipped quietly out of the kitchen, giving them time alone.

  About an hour later, there was a tap on our bedroom door. When beckoned to enter, Melanie opened it up. She stood in the doorway, appearing worse for wear, yes, but also determined: chin jutting, shoulders back.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do this thing.’

  That was why, seven hours later, we were in Lorne, at Scott’s establishment, Samara Health Spa and Villas, preparing for operation “Make Mel a Bloodsucker.” The rest of us had offered up some nicer-sounding options; however, Mel was having none of it. She’d decreed that it was her show and she’d call it what she feckin’ liked.

  We’d chosen Scott’s place over staying at Greg’s and mine for a number of reasons. Greg and I lived in St Kilda (almost classed as inner-city) and were surrounded by other apartment buildings and heaps of people. In additio
n, the two-bedroom apartment had no space to contain a newly made, bloodlusting vampire. Scott’s spa was a three-hour drive from Melbourne, secluded, surrounded by acres of heavily treed land (perfect for hunting animals), and it was closed for over a month during May, which was the beginning of the off-peak season (perfect for not hunting humans). Scott preferred to operate with a full complement of staff and then have everyone take their four weeks annual leave at one time, rather than dribs and drabs throughout the year.

  Even better, since I’d last visited, Scott had built another two self-contained villas. They were far away from the rest of the accommodation, perched right at the top of the mountain. Intended to give clients a top-notch luxury experience, they would be perfect for our purposes. Once Melanie was over the initial want-to-kill-and-eat-all-the-people phase, she could stay in one of the villas with Scott. Greg and I could stay in the other one, providing moral support and helping Melanie adjust to vampire life. I supposed Greg would have to do most of the help-with-adjusting stuff. But moral support? I’d make it my new mission in life to support my bestie.

  Possibly the best thing about Scott’s place—the huge, windowless storage room with a big-ass lockable metal door. While most of the space was dedicated to hotel/spa equipment not currently in use, one section was divided off with metal bars and a gate to which only Scott had a key. Since he currently lived in a small studio room in the main building, he used the storage area to stash all his personal belongings, including two motorbikes, a jet ski and his surfboard collection.

  He would soon have a livelier personal belonging hanging out in there until she was fit for company.

  The drive to Lorne had involved taking The Great Ocean Road. There was such spectacular scenery everywhere you looked but, as with the previous two times, I’d had other things on my mind that prevented me from enjoying the drive fully. I’d spent most of this trip focussing on my fellow passengers as we spoke about the logistics, the dangers and potential pitfalls of operation M.M.A.B.S.

  I’d started using the acronym for Melanie’s chosen operation name. Which Mel had argued over, saying it shouldn’t be B.S. at the end due to the fact that bloodsucker was one word. I’d eventually told her to shut up and focus on the important stuff. Before dropping my bullshit acronym once again. Melanie had smacked my arm and told me to sod off.

  Swearing and smacking. Things were good; we were back in full BFF mode.

  The first time I’d travelled The Great Ocean Road was when Greg and I had been heading to the very same place so he could treat my back problems. It was early days (read: before the shagging), so most, if not all, of that trip was spent in a lust fog so thick I could barely see out the windows.

  The last time I’d driven that road, I’d narrowly avoided running into a huge kangaroo. Unfortunately, I had not avoided plummeting off a cliff and getting smashed to smithereens at the bottom. Lucky for me, my vampire boyfriend had mad healing skills.

  Now, as I stood staring at my bestie through blurry eyes, I fervently hoped Greg had mad turning-people-into-vampire skills also.

  From the granite jaw to the tenseness in his posture, it was clear Greg was worried. Hell, we were all scared shitless. But Melanie had gotten sick of everyone second-guessing the plan and announced she was dying anyway. That she’d rather take this chance. If it didn’t work, she’d go out while she still had some dignity, taking that over slowly withering and suffering until some bitter endpoint in the future.

  None of us could argue with that.

  We’d finished getting the storage area ready for Melanie’s “confinement,” as we were calling it, and had spent the last two hours sitting around in one of the new villas, talking. At first, it was about old stuff and funny stories of our times together. And then it turned into us telling Melanie and her telling us how much we loved each other. There were what I’d describe as goodbye speeches, in case Melanie didn’t make it out the other side and the whole thing did in fact turn to bullshit. It was hard. Harder than anything to hold my bestie’s hands, look into her eyes, and tell her all the things I wanted her to know, cognizant that she might not exist much longer.

  Sometimes life sucked so bad.

  ‘You’re going to be an amazing vampire,’ I said now. ‘You’ll be able to live forever. Go anywhere. See everything. Do anything you want.’

  Eat anyone.

  ‘Darlin’, I will be the best feckin’ vampire you know.’ Melanie screwed up her mouth. ‘Sorry, Greg, but I just have this feeling in my gut I’m gonna be an awesomely kick-arse vamp.’

  Greg didn’t seem fazed.

  I said, ‘That feeling in your gut might just be indigestion, you know.’

  Melanie and I smirked at each other for a bit. We told each other without words, ‘Thanks for all the bullshit and the fecking good times.’

  There was a long pause where we just stared at each other. I then said to Melanie in a voice choked with tears, ‘I love you so hard.’

  ‘I love you with a fuckin’ vengeance,’ she replied, her words coming out on a broken cry.

  After a time of silence—apart from the crying, sobbing, and blowing of noses—Scott ushered Melanie through the door leading to a corridor that separated the two bedrooms from the living space. He closed the door behind them. It was time for their private goodbyes.

  Fifteen minutes later, I interrupted my incessant pacing and the continued silence on our side of the door with a question whispered at Greg. ‘Do you think they’re having sex over there?’ I plastered my ear against the door, hearing absolutely nothing from the couple on the other side.

  He stopped what he was doing for three seconds and then, without responding, resumed. Grinding his teeth was the only thing he’d been doing while I’d been busy pacing.

  Shelving my own feelings, I focussed on my boyfriend. He was sitting a few feet away, staring into middle distance and quietly worrying his ass off. I needed to take his mind off the troubling thoughts. I needed him to believe in himself. To trust he could do this. A positive attitude would facilitate success—I was sure of it. Plus, how the heck would he even bite Melanie if he ground those fangs down to nothing?

  I dabbed my eyes, willed the last few welling tears to go back from whence they came and tossed my tissue in the bin like I meant business.

  I definitely meant business.

  ‘I’m sure they’re having sex.’ I placed my ear against the door again and made a grossed-out face. ‘Wow, Scott grunts a lot when he’s bonking.’

  Greg looked over at me without the slightest change in his expression.

  ‘Ohmigod, what is that? Is that Mel, squealing like…what even is that? A pig?’

  Staring. Serious face.

  ‘Ah, hell,’ I yelled. ‘Someone just farted. That’s not romantic, is it?’

  I had no effect on granite-faced Greg.

  Luckily, I’d studied science and not followed my dream of attending acting school. My acting clearly sucked big ones. I reckon I could’ve been a dancer, though. That had been my other dream. Quashed when my dad announced, rather vehemently, ‘No daughter of mine’s going to be prancing around onstage in a bloody leotard!’

  Anyway, enough about my biz. I took a fraction of a second to mentally curse overbearing parents before suggesting, ‘Maybe they’re fanny farts.’ This was a last-ditch attempt to get Greg to loosen up. ‘Fanny farts are acceptable during sex. Ones from the back end? Not so much.’ Even though Greg had been born in the States, he’d lived in Australia long enough to understand that a fanny was on the front side down here.

  The left side of his mouth curled ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed. A couple of creases appeared at the outer corners of his eyes.

  I wanted to fist-pump. I’d gotten to him.

  ‘Don’t talk about fanny farts,’ he said finally.

  ‘But we had fun last time—’

  ‘Don’t even,’ he warned threateningly, cutting me off.

  The last time the subject had come up was quite
recently, when Greg had taken me from behind. He’d obviously pushed a whole lot of air up in there because at one point, I’d FF-ed like a champion and, as he’d put it, ‘almost blown his dick off.’ Which was such an exaggeration. I’d done no such thing.

  Maybe he was buffeted.

  Quite strongly.

  However it went down, the result was that we’d laughed like loons until we were crying and could barely breathe. Barely breathing was not a problem for Greg. Me, on the other hand? My health could be majorly affected. I’d imagined a line in my obituary: Her fanny blew his dick off and she perished from laughing.

  One second Greg was over…there, and the next, he was right in front of me. My heart stuttered. His vampire speed might give me a heart attack one of these days.

  New obit: She was so shocked that he came so fast, she up and died.

  My mind was in the gutter. Stupid humour was my fallback when I was nervous. I was nervous as hell right now.

  ‘I hope they’re having sex,’ I whispered to Greg. That’s what I’d be doing with my man/vamp if there was a possibility that it might be my last hour on Earth. I’d touch him, hold him, kiss him and take him inside my body one last time.

  ‘I don’t believe Melanie’s in any state to be having sex.’

  He was right. She was pale, emaciated, weak, exhausted.

  ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘if they were having sex, I would have heard them.’

  Of course. Sometimes I forgot about Greg’s super-vamp hearing. ‘What are they doing, then?’

  ‘Kissing. Whispering stuff.’

  He’d probably heard every word. ‘So…no one’s farting?’

  A smile ghosted across his lips. ‘No. No unromantic wind emissions.’ Gazing down at me, he cradled the side of my face in his palm. ‘Thank you for trying to cheer me up and take my mind off things, sweetheart. You always do that for me. I love you, my beautiful girl.’ He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, and after a few heartbeats of silence, came the quiet admission, ‘I’m scared, Ana.’