MaryJanice Davidson - Dead Over Heels

Title Page

Copyright Page

Undead and Wed: A Honeymoon Story

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Survivors

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Speed Dating, Werewolf Style - Or, Ow, I Think You Broke the Bone

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Teaser chapter

No man will ever bring out of that office the reputation which carries him into it . . . the honeymoon would be as short as in any other, and its moments of ecstasy would be ransomed by years of torment and hatred.

—THOMAS JEFFERSON

I do not want a honeymoon with you. I want a good marriage. I want progress, and I want problem solving which requires my best efforts and also your best efforts.

—GERALD FORD

Too fucking busy, and vice versa.

—DOROTHY PARKER,

in response to her editor’s request

for work on her honeymoon

Author’s Note

The events of this novella take place a week after the events in Undead and Uneasy.

The king and queen are coming to New York.”

The vampire, an ancient creature even by the standards of the undead, smiled. “Don’t tease, Robert. It’s so unkind.”

“I’m not teasing, my dear one. They’re coming.

They’ll be here the day after tomorrow.”

“What fun!”

Although he had made this vampire, as he had made many others, he was a little afraid of it. “Or, we could leave town.”

“Leave? This is our territory!”

“Yes, and since they took power, no one has been able to stand against The One and Sinclair.”

“The One,” the vampire scoffed. “Barely—what? Two years old? I don’t believe she even exists.”

“She killed Nostro,” he said quietly. “And Marjorie.”

“They were sloppy and complacent.”

And we aren’t? he thought but did not say.

“Someone killed them, but I’ll believe in this The One nonsense when I actually see her. No, it’s too too good. If I believed in such things I would say it’s meant to be. The king! Coming here! Of all the places he could have chosen, he’s coming here . Oh, I can’t wait!” The creature frowned. “Robert, you don’t seem terribly enthused.”

Terribly terrified was more like it, but he had no intention of admitting that. Instead, he sighed soundlessly, without breath. “So I take it we aren’t leaving town?”

Siamese blue eyes narrowed at him. “I will, of course, do as my sire commands.”

But that was a lie. He wasn’t in charge here, and they both knew it.

“Then we stay,” he said, surrendering. And the thing he had made chortled and bounced and giggled, and he smiled at it, and hated it, but he loved it, too.

Because he had made it, all those years ago when there were more horses in Manhattan than automobiles.

Iwas so excited to land at the airport in New York City (La Guardia or the other one . . . I wasn’t paying attention to the pilot’s intercom ramblings) that I didn’t even bother with the stairs leading from the private plane to the ground. I just jumped, putting one hand on the railing and vaulting over, my black Gucci pumps dangling from my first two fingers. Didn’t even feel the shock in my knees when I hit.

This was not a trick I could have pulled off while I was alive.

At the head of the stairs, my husband (husband! bridegroom! Yessssss!), Sinclair, king of the vampires, shook out the Wall Street Journal, folded it, and scowled down at me.

“How completely indiscreet, Elizabeth.”

“Aw, Cooper doesn’t care.”

“Didn’t see a thing, mum,” Cooper assured me in his adorable Irish accent. He wasn’t our pilot, and this wasn’t our plane. It was my best friend, Jessica’s. She’d lent it to us for our honeymoon, told us we could go wherever we wanted. Cooper had worked for Jessica for ten years and, as they say, knew where all the bodies were buried. “An’ by the way, glad to see you’re not dead. That was a nasty business a couple of springs back.”

“Horrible practical joke,” I said, referring to my firing, death, thirtieth birthday, and return from the grave as the long-foretold vampire queen. The people who didn’t know I was a vampire either never knew I’d been killed, or thought it was a nasty trick thought up by my (late) evil stepmother. My friends and I did absolutely nothing to disabuse them of their silly-ass notions. “Really really bad taste. But it all worked out in the end.”

“Yes indeed, mum,” Cooper said, his blue eyes twinkling. Before Sinclair, I’d been a real sucker for Black Irish . . . that thick dark hair . . . those big blue eyes . . . umm . . .

Meanwhile, Sinclair (who wasn’t Irish . . . in fact, I had no idea what he was) was gliding down the steps like a beauty queen (all he lacked was the tiara and bouquet of roses . . . and the tearful wave), when I knew perfectly well he could step off the IDS Tower and not even rumple his tie.

“Try to contain yourself,” he sighed, moving past me toward the waiting limo.

“But it’s New York City! And we’re married! And we’re in New York!” I, the country mouse, ran after him in my bare feet. I was wearing a sky blue shirt dress, no stockings. Oh, and my wedding ring! Not to mention my non-cursed engagement ring. But that was a whole other story. “Don’t you think it’s going to be a blast?”

He muttered something that I, even with my super vampire hearing, couldn’t catch. Probably just as well. Behind us, Cooper was calling, “See you in a week, mum! Sir!”

I flapped a wave over one shoulder and practically dived into the limo (fortunately, the door was being held open by the driver, a tall, lean, gorgeous black guy with cheekbones you could cut yourself on and the most amazing green eyes). Sinclair got in on the other side and shook out his paper once again.

“The Grange Hotel?” the driver asked.

“Yes,” Sinclair replied absently as his pants made the dreaded chirrup . He fished out his cell phone, flipped it open, and blinked at the screen.

I sank back against the luxurious leather seats, halfway to full pout. “Don’t even tell me. Tina called again.”

“No matter where I am in the world,” he reminded me mildly, “I still have business to attend to. And so do you.”