Undead and unwed by MaryJanice Davidson

Author:MaryJanice Davidson [Davidson, MaryJanice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Fiction - Horror, Horror - General, Vampires, Romance, Romance: Modern, American Light Romantic Fiction, Paranormal, Love stories; American, Romance - General, Contemporary, Occult & Supernatural, Humorous, Parapsychology
ISBN: 9780425194850
Publisher: Berkley Books
Published: 2004-03-02T23:43:57+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"My master will—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"You cannot speak to—"

"Shut the fuck up."

She leaned forward and her eyes went the color of the sky right before sunset. "You don't wish to fight with me… Betsy."

Ooooh, eyes that change color when she's in a snit…now I was really scared. "You bet I do, Tootsie Roll. Bring it, cow! Let's see how you do when you're not hiding behind one of my friends." I must have sounded almost as angry as I felt, because she hesitated. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, doing an admirable impression of someone who hadn't been momentarily frightened, sat back, and stared out the limo window.

Yep, I was back in one of Noseo's limos. It had been waiting at the mouth of the alley like a big black gas-guzzling omen of death.

I snapped the antenna off, just for fun, and threw it at Tootsie Roll's head. She ducked—barely. The driver didn't say a word, just held the door for me.

"I am Shanara."

"Shut the fuck up." I fumbled with my pocket—stupid linen trousers, they were going to wrinkle like hell—and tossed her a ten dollar bill. "And go buy yourself a real name."

She let the bill bounce off her nonexistent chest and started tapping her long red fingernails on the armrest. She was starting to get pretty pissed but, interestingly, wasn't doing anything. Did Nostril's edict give her permission to hurt my friends, but not me? Time to find out. "Long red slut nails are so five minutes ago," I informed her. "In fact, it's more like five years ago. Just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to be a fashion eyesore."

" Un dead," she snapped.

"Dead," I said implacably. "When was the last time you had a nice steak? Or even a salad? Shit, even a piece of toast? Dead people don't eat. We don't eat. Ergo, we are dead."

"We have more power than mere mortals can—"

"Blah, blah, blah. So, when did you die? You don't look a day over sixty."

Her flat bosom heaved in indignation. "I became Gloriously Transformed in 1972."

"That explains the nails and the bell bottoms."

"These are in again!" she nearly screamed, pointing to her Gap knockoffs.

"Nope, sorry. They were trendy, but now they're out again." From the front I could hear a curiously muffled sound, almost like someone was strangling on their own laughter.

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