“Which is crazy, right?” exclaims Blue Minion, her hand on her hip. “Gina is more than enough for one dude. I can’t believe Anastasia had the ovaries to get up on Gina’s man.”
“Well, you know she’s such a slut,” Purple Minion sneers, drunkenly spilling some of her beer on the floor as she gestures. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a lesbo thing for Gina.”
Minions Blue and Pink gasp, and I’m ready to murder the three of them.
Fists clenched at my sides so I don’t wrap them around these bitches’ necks, I snap, “I don’t give a fuck.Wheredid they go?”
Pink Minion seems to be the one who has the strongest desire to live, because she immediately points down a hallway, stuttering, “Nolan took them both that way.”
“Not upstairs?” I question, needing to nail down exactly where they went.
She shakes her head.
Blue quickly adds, “There are some guest rooms down that way.”
“How do you know that?” Purple asks suspiciously, squinting at Blue, or least trying to. She’s really drunk.
“Jeremy and I have hung out a few times at his place,” Blue stammers, turning a shade of red so pronounced that it can be seen under the multicolored lights spinning in the otherwise dark room.
“You skank,” Purple squeals, and then she and Pink start pumping Blue for details.
Since Ireallydon’t give a shit, I ignore their gossiping and head down the indicated hallway, beginning my search of the back rooms. I break into a bathroom, closet, and another spare guestroom—each filled with people fucking or trying to—before I find the one with Nolan in it.
It looks like the end of a horror movie where no one survives. Blood drenches the bed and carpet and splatters the walls. On one side of the room, Anastasia stands perfectly still, her eyes squeezed shut while tears and snot drip down her face. On the other is a nightmare of screams and manic laughter.
At least they aren’t dead.
I slam the door behind me, a challenge since I broke the door handle to get inside. Nolan doesn’t seem to notice, busy taking a ravaging bite through Gina’s upper arm and then promptly vomiting over the side of the bed. The sounds and smells are enough to make my iron stomach queasy, and it takes me longer than I like to admit to go over to the bed, the carpet squishing under my boots.
“Nolan, stop!” I roar and physically lift him off the bed.
“No!” he hisses, scratching at my arms and kicking me in the shins with his heels.
It’s like trying to hold onto a wildcat, and I’m forced to pin him face-first into the wall, knocking off framed paintings in the struggle. “You little shit, I’m trying to save your life.”
“I don’t want to be saved,” he snarls, wrenching his body from side to side. “It needs to end.”
“Not tonight. Not like this,” I growl, using my body weight to keep him from escaping while I pull my belt off.
He’s slippery with blood, so it takes some work to get the belt around his wrists and then fasten it around his body. When I’m sure he can’t escape, I let him drop to the ground and leave him as he struggles to break free while I assess how fucked we are.
Witch Bitch looks like she rolled through a viper pit, every exposed part of her oozing blood. Her screams are hoarse and weak, her eyes stare at unseen things, and her body jerks in uncontrolled spasms. I check her pulse, and indecision creeps in when I feel her heart’s weak beat. If I do nothing, she’ll eventually die. The world would be a better place for it, except it’s obvious to anyone who knows the supernatural world that the cause of death would be vampire bites. It’s not a huge leap to get to Nolan, and then what good is it to save his life only for him to spend it in some kind of prison.
“Fuck!” I swear, wiping my fingers clean on my black jeans. Glaring at the bitch, I pull my phone from my pocket and call the one person who can clean this up.
“Is this a drunk dial or a booty call?” Callie yawns over the phone. “Wait. Don’t answer that. I’m already mad you woke me up.”
“I promise you can chew me out later,” I reply, leaning against the doorframe—the only place in here not completely covered in blood.
“Oh, trust me, there will be chewing,” she declares and then giggles sleepily. “That kind of sounded dirty.”
“Nolan might have killed Gina,” I blurt, every part of me hating that I have to drag her into this.
“If only,” she scoffs.
“Angel, I’m serious,” I insist with a frown, my gaze making its way up the walls. “It looks like the fucking hallway fromTheShiningin here.”
He got blood on the ceiling. How? Did he make a vomit fountain?
