The Fangover (12 page)

The girl who had been smiling so suggestively a second ago made a face and dropped her arm from her hip to lie limply. “We don’t take personal requests.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

“She don’t work tonight. She’ll be here tomorrow.” The girl messed with the strings of her bikini bottoms and Wyatt got a flash of flesh he would have preferred not to see.

“Okay, thanks.” Dragging Stella, he got out of there. Hopefully Saxon and Drake were following them.

“You’re about to break my hand, Wyatt.”

He glanced down at Stella, whose face was pinched. “Sorry.” He loosened his grip on her, not really sure what his problem was. “We’re just getting more questions than answers, aren’t we? This is frustrating.”

They paused on the sidewalk a few feet down the uneven cobblestones from the doorway. Saxon was staring into the window of a T-shirt shop and fiddling with his bangs with one hand, applying a layer of ChapStick with the other. He must have the smoothest lips of any vampire in Louisiana. Drake looked distracted, poking his cheek with his finger and working his jaw.

“The last forty-eight hours have been nothing but frustrating,” Stella said, her hands going into her front pockets.

Wyatt’s eyes were drawn to the ribbon of skin that was exposed above her waistline from the action. He wanted to lick her flesh. To really have the opportunity to lay her down and kiss her from head to toe. That was frustrating. “You’ve had some satisfying moments in the last forty-eight hours, too.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You liked it when you came, didn’t you?”

He felt, rather than saw, her shiver. “That goes without saying.”

Wyatt took her hand in his and stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. “We’re going to figure this out as quickly as possible so we can put all this behind us and get back to the bedroom.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She licked her lips in what was probably a nervous gesture, but it served to turn him on.

“It can be simple.” Now he found he wasn’t talking about just sex. But he also was a quick learner. He knew it was time to back off. He took a step back and gave her space. “Okay, so where is this place? Benny better have some information, that’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s in the eight hundred block of Bourbon. Let’s go before Saxon hurts himself.”

If Wyatt wanted to be responsible for a loyal and not-so-bright living creature, he’d get a dog. But he sighed and called to Saxon and Drake. “Yo, come on!”

Normally Drake was a little swifter, but the numbing medication seemed to have gotten to him. He was wandering as aimlessly behind them as Saxon was. Wyatt walked beside Stella and steeled himself to be annoyed by Benny all over again.

Nonetheless, he wasn’t quite prepared for the sight of Benny dancing on a bar in his infamous orange underwear, gyrating suggestively. Nor was he prepared to pay a five-dollar cover charge at the door.

“What the hell?” he said to Stella. “I’m annoyed on behalf of gay men. Why do they have to pay a cover charge when no other bar on Bourbon charges one? That sucks. It might even be discrimination.”

“Maybe it’s because there’s entertainment.”

“Um, what are we? We’re not on that stage every night because we wandered up there by accident.”

Stella made a face. “You’re right. I don’t know. I guess they figure if they can get money they’ll charge it.”

“If someone hits on me, you have to pretend to be my girlfriend,” Drake said to Stella, his slur improved dramatically.

“No one is going to hit on any of you. Trust me.”

Should they be insulted? “And why is that, exactly?”

Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest and stood on the edge of the dance floor. The music wasn’t really that loud, because it wasn’t meant to be danced to. It was just setting a beat for the dancers on the bar and on the elevated stage while allowing customers to still talk. Benny had spotted Stella and had enthusiastically waved, but other than that they didn’t seem to be attracting any attention. Whenever a guy glanced their way, he quickly dismissed them.

Well. Apparently none of them were attractive to men. Wyatt was a little insulted.

“This is a sweeping generalization, but scruffy musicians seem to be something only women find hot,” Stella said.

“Scruffy? You think I’m scruffy?” Yeah. Insulted.

She rolled her eyes. “I mean longer hair.”

That didn’t soothe his feelings in any way. “Alright. Whatever. I see how it is.”

“I refuse to deal with any of your wounded egos tonight.” Stella moved away from him with a fair amount of attitude and sway in her hips.

Bewildered, he turned to Drake. “What the hell did I do?”

“You spoke. That’s what you did. Hey, uh, what’s going on with you and Stella?”

“Something’s going on with you and Stella?” Saxon asked. “Dude.”

“I don’t really know what’s going on with us. Maybe something. Maybe nothing.” Brooding, he stood with his legs apart, arms crossed, and watched Benny bend over and talk to Stella. Neither of them seemed concerned that they were interrupting his work, such as it was.

“What’s the deal with the guy? She have a thing for the priest?”

Wyatt glared at Drake. “No.” And he didn’t really appreciate having his secret fear pointed out—that she would find another man more to her liking.

Stella felt a sense of responsibility toward Benny, that’s all. She wasn’t attracted to him. But was she attracted to Wyatt? None of these guys here were. Maybe he wasn’t attractive.

And maybe he was a moron.

Her conversation with Benny was taking way longer than it should. Wyatt strode over to them.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He nodded to Benny.

Benny’s smile disappeared when he saw Wyatt. “Oh. Hey.”

“Everything taken care of?” he asked Stella.

“Yes. Benny said he’ll go get his phone for us to look at after this dance. He said he hasn’t looked at the pictures so he doesn’t know what, if anything, is on there.”

“Okay, cool. Thanks, man.”

“Anything for my Dark Angel.”

Oh, please.

Benny stood back up and went back to throwing his hips around.
Dancing
was a bit of an exaggeration in Wyatt’s opinion. Leaning against the bar, he studied Stella. “So what was all that conversation about, Dark Angel?”

It wasn’t the right thing to say. He knew it the second the words were out of his mouth. Her expression confirmed this. She looked like she wanted to hit him with her purse again.

“The jealousy thing? Not cool. Knock it off.”

He wanted to protest but he wasn’t sure there was much point. “Sorry. Do you want a drink?”

“I’d love a diet soda.”

Wyatt tried to flag the bartender down, but the guy ignored him. He wasn’t used to that. He knew half the bartenders in the Quarter and he always got good service. Being ignored yet again was not what he wanted when he was trying to be cool and smooth things over with Stella. Looking around, he realized most of the men in the bar were well-dressed and aloof. It seemed to be a theme. Maybe Wyatt needed to wave a twenty to the bartender and act pretentious to get service.

Saxon seemed to be having the same problem with the bartender. He made choking motions and said, “Dying. Of. Thirst.”

Which was, of course, ridiculous. Vampires weren’t going to die of anything and definitely not of human thirst. They didn’t need to drink liquids besides blood at all. Most of them did it as a habit more than anything else or used it as a mixer for blood.

Wyatt didn’t need to feed more than once a night, or sometimes even for several nights, given his age. But Saxon was a young vampire. He probably was struggling with true hunger, and Wyatt knew that if you were craving blood, a bar was as torturous as it was for an alcoholic. All those sweaty, aroused bodies dancing and flirting and moving. Their blood scent hung over the room like a London fog, surrounding them with its enticing sweetness.

Saxon was hard to take seriously because he was such a goof, but he was a vampire and he did struggle with the same urges they all did. Wyatt had the feeling he needed to take Saxon seriously right now. “Hey, you okay? You want to go home and get a bag?”

“That might not be a bad idea.”

Saxon lived on Decatur above a souvenir shop, and if he cut down Dumaine they weren’t that far. “We’re only five minutes from your place so you might as well. Meet us back here, okay?” Not that he wanted to hang around indefinitely but he still thought it wasn’t a bad idea to stick together.

“Why does he get to wander off when you nixed me coming here alone?” Stella looked put out.

Which seemed to be her look of the evening except for when she had been riding him.

“Because I’m not sleeping with Saxon,” he told her. No point in putting any other spin on it.

Drake, who had been playing with his phone, glanced up. “You two are sleeping with each other?”

Though he didn’t sound particularly surprised or concerned about the idea. Which really made Wyatt wish he’d kept his mouth shut. Drake, that is. Wyatt was glad he had said something. Stella needed to know he wasn’t playing around here—he could be patient but he did want a relationship with her.

“No,” Stella sputtered. “Well, yes, actually. But only twice. Why do you care?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Drake said, going back to his phone. “I figured you’d get around to banging each other sooner or later.”

Wyatt watched Stella for her reaction to Drake’s nonchalance. Maybe Stella was the only one who hadn’t noticed Wyatt’s lengthy crush on her.

“Don’t be crude,” was her scathing, prudish response.

“What, banging each other isn’t what you’re doing? Is Wyatt making love to you, Stella?” Drake teased her.

She looked embarrassed. Wyatt felt embarrassed. If Drake started calling him her lover he was going to have a real problem with it.

“You know, just mind your own business.” Stella looked relieved when Benny hopped down off the bar and came over, his cell phone in his hand. “Thanks, Benny, we’ll just take a peek and get it right back to you.”

“Whatever you need, goddess.” Benny used a stool to leap back up onto the bar, earning him a few catcalls from patrons.

“You sleeping with him, too?” Drake asked.

“No. How’s your fake fang?” Stella paused in navigating Benny’s phone to glance up and wrinkle her nose at Drake.

“Ouch.” Drake laughed. “It’s actually pretty damn sore, but I’ll be fine. And I get the message. You want me to back off. But how often do I get to give you a hard time? Indulge me.”

She started to speak, then her eyes went wide as she looked at the phone. “Oh my God. Wyatt, you really are wearing a corset.”

Chapter Eleven

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT BETTY

K
ATIE
wasn’t totally kidding. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know anything else. It already seemed pretty apparent that Cort had been the one to bite her. And they legitimately seemed to be married, too. Okay, not by the Lurch of a minister back there, but by someone. Probably the priest in the bathtub. Which somehow seemed apropos.

And they had found out what happened to Saxon’s forehead.

She glanced at the cookie jar cradled in Cort’s arm. And now they had an Elvis cookie jar. That was probably enough for tonight.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, heaven help her, she did exactly what she’d just told herself she didn’t want to do. She asked another question.

“Do you think the blood on me was mine? Or someone else’s?”

Cort shook his head. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

Katie wasn’t sure which option disturbed her more. But it did explain why she was now wearing a T-shirt and jeans. They’d gotten her a change of clothing at some point, obviously.

They walked a bit, silent. Katie considered asking where they were going, but instead addressed the other issue at the forefront of her mind.

“Do you think the reverend knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That we’re vampires,” Katie said.

Cort was quiet for a moment. “I had the same thought, but I guess it doesn’t matter. He didn’t seem like he was going to do anything about it.”

They were silent again, heading down Burgundy back toward the center of the Quarter.

Katie supposed he was right. But it did make her wonder, if the reverend suspected something about them being vampires, couldn’t others, too?

“What if he isn’t the only one who knows?” she asked. “Couldn’t that be dangerous?”

Cort glanced at her, then shrugged, the parrot ruffling its feathers at the movement. “Maybe, but again, I don’t think we should worry unless we find out something concrete. We have enough to worry about tonight, don’t you think?”

Katie suspected he was just playing down his own concern, but she nodded anyway. She’d found the reverend very unnerving, and she found the idea of other humans knowing their secret worrisome, too. What if they saw them as monsters? Cort himself said that some vampires did survive by sucking human blood. What if a human who knew about them was behind what happened last night?

“Listen,” Cort said, obviously noticing her worry. “I really don’t think we have anything to worry about. I mean, if the reverend had wanted to do something to us, he’d had a perfect opportunity last night. We were totally out of it.”

Katie nodded, but decided to share her thoughts anyway. “But didn’t you say that it’s very strange for a vampire to black out, especially from drinking?”

“Yeah.”

“So what if someone did something to you all intentionally.”

Cort stopped and turned to Katie. The bird ruffled again.

“Like drugged us or something?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a thought.”

Cort didn’t speak, but he didn’t start walking again either.

“It is strange that everyone in the band blacked out,” he finally said.

She nodded.

“But you blacked out, too.”

“Maybe I was just collateral damage. Maybe I wasn’t meant to get whatever you got.”

“That is an interesting thought,” he admitted, realizing Katie might have a valid point. It was strange they all blacked out. At Johnny’s wake. And Johnny’s actual death was the strangest part of all. “We all found Johnny’s sudden suicide damned odd. He wasn’t upset or depressed or acting unusual in any way. At least not that I saw.”

“I realize I didn’t know him that well, but I was surprised, too. Johnny always struck me as the type of guy who didn’t sweat the small stuff.”

He didn’t. Johnny loved being a vampire. He loved being a drummer. He loved living in New Orleans and living the constant party. His suicide definitely didn’t make sense, so the more Cort thought about it, the more Katie’s idea that someone wanted to hurt them made sense.

But who?

“I know we didn’t need another potential mystery.” Katie offered him a weak smile.

No, they didn’t. Although in his mind, he sort of felt like they basically knew the truth about their personal mysteries. Whether they liked it or not.

And he felt oddly accepting of both. He’d bitten Katie and married her. Two things he’d vowed never to do again. And he’d broken his promises to himself with a woman he didn’t know all that well. But even looking at her now, he felt like he knew her.

Like he was
supposed
to be with her.

But he returned his attention to this theory of hers. It really might have merit, but where did they start to find out about this new mystery?

“Maybe we should just head back to my place and see if we can talk to the priest. Maybe he can at least give us a little more info about what happened.”

Katie deserved to know why she was a vampire. He did think it was at his hands—or rather fangs, but why? And did they simply marry because he drunkenly felt obligated to take care of the new vampire he’d created?

He looked at Katie. She worried her lower lip again, although stopped when she noticed his gaze falling to her lips.

Yes, he would have married her for that reason. He would, even coherent and sober, he realized. He needed to protect and care for her. He didn’t know why, but he did know that. Period.

“Yes, I guess talking to the priest would be the next best step.” She sounded less than excited about that idea.

Of course, the fact that he’d felt marrying her was the right thing to do didn’t mean she felt the same way. In fact, the dread in her voice was an indication she didn’t feel even remotely the same way. And why would she? Again, he suspected none of this had been her choice.

Still, he felt a little hurt by her obvious reluctance to talk to the priest. But there was no way in hell he was going to show her that. He’d just stay focused on finding out the facts and then handling the annulment or whatever they needed to do to set her free. She’d probably already been made a vampire against her will. He wasn’t going to try to push marriage on her because of his own sense of responsibility.

“Well, let’s go,” Cort said, keeping his tone impassive, businesslike. “Hopefully the priest is still there, and we can wake him and find out what he knows.”

“Do you really think he married us?” she asked.

“It seems like the most likely conclusion,” he said, deciding he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. She probably wanted to be reassured that maybe they weren’t married, but like it or not, he suspected the passed-out priest, or whatever denomination he was, had done the deed and they were hitched.

She nodded.

“So let’s head there, and maybe we can find out how to get this situation rectified.”

She nodded again and started down Burgundy in the direction of his apartment. Neither spoke the several blocks before they reached Toulouse, the street he lived on. But just as they were about to turn the corner, someone called out to them.

“Yoo-hoo, newlyweds! Cort and Katie!”

They both turned to see an older couple waving to them from the other side of the street.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” Cort murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“Not a clue,” Katie said even as she waved at them. The older couple beamed back, waited for a car to pass, then dashed across the street.

“How are our favorite newlyweds tonight?” the woman asked, giving both of them a brief hug, which neither Cort nor Katie returned with the same enthusiasm.

The man grinned, then hugged Katie, too. He offered Cort his hand, much to Cort’s relief.

“I can’t believe you two are headed back to Bourbon,” the woman said. “I figured you would both need at least a day or two to recuperate. Ah, to be young again. Isn’t that right, Ed?”

Ed nodded.

Cort got the feeling that’s what Ed did. Agree.

“Well, we are a little . . .” Cort didn’t know what to call it exactly.

“Hungover,” Katie said, clearly deciding to go with the truth.

“You know what they say,” the woman said and patted Katie’s arm, “hair of the dog. Hair of that dog.”

“We’ve tried,” Katie told her.

“Well, come with us,” the woman said, hooking her arm through Katie’s. “We’re headed to Johnny White’s.”

Katie looked down as if she were being held by a tentacle rather than an older woman’s arm clad in a crocheted sweater.

“We were actually headed—to my—headed home,” Cort corrected himself. After all, they did think they were happy newlyweds. It might seem odd if he referred to
his
apartment. Then again, he couldn’t exactly say why it mattered what total strangers thought of their living situation.

“Oh, just a quick drink with your matron of honor,” the woman insisted.

“Matron. Of. Honor?” Katie said, not keeping the shock off of her face.

Betty’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you forgot. We had such a good time.”

“No—I—I didn’t forget. The night is just a little bit of a blur.”

Betty smiled, seemingly pleased with that answer. Cort supposed being sort of forgotten was better than totally forgotten.

“So now you see, you have to come have a drink with us,” Betty stated. “Ed, tell them to join us.”

Again, obedient Ed did as he was told. “Yes, join us.”

Cort wondered if obedient Ed had been his best man.

“Just one drink,” Betty said, tugging Katie’s arm.

Katie grimaced, clearly wanting to rip her arm out of the woman’s grasp, but she was too polite. Cort definitely knew that about his wife. She was always so kind and sweet.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke,” the parrot suddenly decided to pipe up. The damned drunk.

Both Betty and Ed laughed. “See, even your bird needs a little hair of the dog. Plus, I want to show you all the pictures I took at your party. I couldn’t take any of the wedding, of course, because I was in it, and you know Ed, useless with technology.”

Of course,
Cort thought.
Silly Ed.

Still, there were pictures of the wedding party? Cort looked at Katie, her expression stating that she’d rather be anywhere else right now, but when their eyes met, she nodded.

She wanted to look at the pictures, too.

What couple didn’t want to look at photos of their forgotten wedding? Or, in this case, wedding party.

Katie smiled at the woman. “I guess one drink would be fine.”

The couple looked tickled. Okay, Betty looked tickled. Ed looked relieved that his wife was getting her way. And Katie still smiled. Only Cort would know that smile wasn’t her real one. Her real smile lit up her whole face and made her deep blue eyes shimmer with true joy. That smile was beautiful enough to fill him with awe.

His body reacted just thinking about it. Kind of sad, given he knew she was feeling anything but joyous at the moment.

Betty continued to hold Katie’s arm as they started down Toulouse toward Bourbon.

“Elvis fan, huh?”

Cort started, surprised that Ed had spoken before being told to do so. Ed pointed to the cookie jar.

“Oh yeah, but this belongs to a friend of ours.”

Ed nodded as if it was perfectly reasonable that Cort was wandering around Bourbon Street carrying a cookie jar. An Elvis cookie jar at that.

Cort supposed there was something to be said for Ed’s long-suffering ways. He just didn’t question.

Maybe that’s what they all should be doing.

But when he looked at Katie, listening to Betty’s story with that fake smile plastered to her face, he knew he had to ask questions and get the answers. For her, at least.

Johnny White’s was several blocks back in the direction they’d come from, and if Cort had been thinking clearly and not fixating on Katie and her lackluster feelings toward their marriage, he’d have suggested they go back to Burgundy, then cut back down to Bourbon.

It was longer to go that way, but it wasn’t as if ole Ed was going to question his reasoning. And Betty was too busy chattering Katie’s ear off to notice anyway. And that would have kept them off Bourbon for a majority of the walk.

He studied Katie. She was doing a good job holding it together, but he could see that Bourbon Street was overwhelming her. Crowds and lights and noise were extreme sensory overload for a new vampire. It was like bringing a newborn to a rock concert. Not pleasant and not well-tolerated.

At his age, he barely registered the glaring lights, blaring music, and masses of revelers. But for Katie, the whole experience had to be downright torture. He’d seen that even Lafitte’s had been difficult, and this was like Lafitte’s times a thousand.

Betty still had her arm looped through Katie’s and she continued to babble away, but Cort could see his wife wasn’t truly paying attention.

She couldn’t. Too many other stimuli bombarded her. And he could tell by the way her blue eyes darted from one thing to another, not really focusing, and the deathly paleness of her skin, she wanted to bolt. To just escape.

“Betty,” he said, stepping up on the other side of Katie, “I hate to be so greedy, but I’m already missing my bride. Do you mind if I steal her away?”

Betty instantly released Katie’s arm, grinning. “Of course not.”

Cort shifted the cookie jar to the same side as the parrot. Katie didn’t need that damned thing squawking, or pecking at her. Or singing. Man, he was so sick of the singing already.

He reached for Katie, tucking her against his side with his free arm. Again she surprised him with her willingness to lean against him. He knew she had to resent him. After all, she was feeling this way thanks to him.

Betty moved over to take Ed’s hand, apparently moved by new romance.

Cort leaned his head toward Katie’s, his mouth near her ear. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly. Soothingly. “Just focus on my voice.”

She nodded, not speaking, and he suspected she couldn’t. It was all too much.

“Just listen to me, focus on me.” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm, in slow, reassuring strokes. “Listen to the sound of my voice and my touch.”

*   *   *