MaryJane Davidson: Undead and Unworthy

“You did?” Jane asked, open skepticism in her voice.

“Well, sure. See, I – ”

“Don't be fooled!” Nick warned them. “She's got this annoying weird charm thing going on. It's hideous. Like head lice. Everything she touches turns to shit.”

“Would that include Jessica?” I snapped.

“Well,” he snarled, “she didn't have cancer before she moved in with you and a bunch of other mutant bloodsucking freaks.”

I didn't even want to respond to that. Emotionally exhausted, I sat on the arm of the couch next to him and waited to see what the Fiends would do.

And for the first time, I noticed Nick was bleeding – from the inside of his elbows, his neck. There were more serious cuts up and down his arms – from the fight at his house, I assumed. Maybe he'd rolled on some of the broken glass on the carpet? Maybe he'd –

Oh, God, his neck. They'd – they'd fed on him while waiting for me. His skin must still be crawling.

I imagine he felt raped and suddenly couldn't look at him.

“We have to deal with this one before we do anything else,” Richard said, hauling Nick out of the chair. “They don't care for each other, so he's officially become useless.”

“Useless?” Nick yelped, outraged.

“Hey, a minute ago you were ready to die just to make me feel like shit for the next thousand years. Now you're all mystified because you might be executed? ”

“We should kill him,” Richard decided.

“What about the queen?” Stephanie asked, looking around nervously as if the queen's guard was going to burst out of the walls at any moment. Ha! If only. I could use a last-​minute rescue. Dammit, why, why wasn't my life more like a movie?

Richard squinted at me, and I got a decidedly distrustful vibe from him. “We should kill her anyway.”

Then I got a stroke of real luck. Nick tried to pull away from Richard and briefly succeeded, separating himself for a bare second from his supernaturally strong grasp. Quick as thought, I stood up, snatched Nick by the back of his neck and the seat of his pants, and tossed him out the bank of windows.

“You biiiiiiiitch,” he yowled all the way down. Then, thank God, I heard him cursing as he thrashed around in the hedges.

“She lies!” Jane shrieked, and came at me.

God, I was so sick of people just launching themselves at me without warning. Big-​time rude, not to mention hell on my nerves. I backpedaled like mad, physically and verbally.

“I didn't do anything to – ”

Her fist was a blur, and I took a teeth-​rattling punch in the mouth, which wasn't fun at all, and threw an elbow into Richard's throat before he could do the same.

I chastised myself immediately: I was fighting like a human, but Fiends didn't need to breathe. He did cough and grab his throat, which I figured was good enough, so I turned my back on him, seized Jane by the hair, and spun her across the room.

Richard recovered faster than I expected. He delivered a blow to my right kidney, which hurt – oh, man, getting punched in the back was no fun at all – and then delivered a roundhouse kick to my left kidney, which hurt even more.

“You told us you would not try to trick us!” he seethed, hurting me some more with his fists. Kick, kick. Stomp. Best I could tell, Richard was apparently quite the kickboxing champion in his former life. “You swore!”

“I said,” I gasped between blows, “that after Nick left... ooof... I would let you have at me. Feels like... ow, ow, oh God ow! . . . I'm keeping my end of the bargain. Shame... aggh!... you couldn't keep yours.”

“My end of the bargain,” he hissed in my ear, “is to survive. That's all you taught me to do.”

The fire inside me kindled, and I felt a surge of power, as something made Richard stagger back. It didn't knock him unconscious, much less kill him, but it did give me enough space to get up and straighten myself to my full height.

And yes, I was still wearing my Marc Jacobs heels, which helped.

“Maybe you're not as good a student as you think.” I couldn't help the disdain in my voice, though normally I tried not to sound like such a snob. What was wrong with this man? His queen had spared his life from the wrath of her husband, offered an apology, reached her hand out in friendship – and he had slapped it down?

What was wrong with him? Who the fuck did he think he was?!

My blood ran super-​hot again, and he shrieked as if I had struck him. Again, he seemed too strong to suffer worse than a blow – or maybe the fact that he shared my blood spared him from the worst I had to offer – but it didn't matter. His kickboxing career was over.

“On your knees!” I snarled at him. When he didn't move, I ignited my blood again – yes, I think I was controlling it now, at least somewhat – and made him get down. And I won't lie. I wouldn't deny it felt good to see him submit. To make him submit.

I turned long enough to ensure that Stephanie and Jane were not coming at me – they weren't, since they, too, were on their knees – and then I gave Richard my full attention again.

Nick's chair had been upturned in the fracas; I reached down and snapped a leg off the bottom. “You and I will come to terms of peace,” I suggested, “or you will die.” A dim thought that this wasn't exactly the best way to enforce peace was immediately shoved to the back of my brain.

Richard's body was beaten, but his eyes were still full of defiance and distrust. “I see your true colors. No peace, my queen.”

“My true colors. My true colors!” I felt my fangs spring from my gums and resisted the urge to bite him on the face. I raised the stake and brought it down faster than he could possibly move...

... right into his throat.

I don't know what made me miss his heart. Maybe it was poor aim – swinging a stake in lavender pumps is harder than it looks. Maybe the part of me that wanted him dead wasn't as strong as the part of me that just wanted him to shut the hell up.

Pulling the bloody stake from his throat, I turned to the others, who were still (willingly) on their knees. His body made a soft thump on the plush carpet behind me. Yes, he'd be out of action for hours. “And now, what to do with you two,” I said grimly, hands on hips. Richard's black blood dripped slowly onto my – oh no! – Ann Taylor linen pants. I quickly rearranged the stake.

“I, um, think we should let her go,” Stephanie managed with her head down.

“Perhaps there can be... forgiveness,” Jane said, also not looking up.

“Maybe,” I agreed. “I guess that'th up to each of you.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” This was no time to let the Fiends know that I lisped whenever my fangs came out. It wouldn't exactly strike terror in their heart of hearts.

I could hear the squeal of brakes outside the windows, familiar voices, the front door opening, and pounding footfalls.

“In the thort time we have left alone together,” I suggested, “you two thould probably do everything you can to look ath – as – unthreatening as you possibly can.” Thank God, my fangs were retracting. I was still pretty thirsty, but it would appear that the energy I'd gotten from my family, as well as from Richard, were keeping the worst of the pangs away. “Because if you think I'm bad? You should see my husband in action.”

They swarmed into the room like a pack of wolverines. I relaxed, smiled at the first face I saw, and felt some of the fire leave my blood.

“Don't you bitches touch – oh.” Antonia skidded to a halt, then nearly went sprawling, as Sinclair almost ran her down. “Oomph! Um, we're here to save you.”

“Go save Nick,” I suggested. “He's in the bushes on this side of the house.”