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“You did it! Whatever you said to Maxton last night worked. We have just enough time to get to LA to present him to Cimil.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember a thing past giving control over to the beast. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yeah, dude. So get your leather pants up. By the way, why are they down?”
Damien stood slowly and pulled up his shame, aka the pants. He loathed wearing clothing that fit improperly. “The beast’s idea of a joke, no doubt.”
“Don’t know anyone who could laugh at that shlong.” She grinned. “You got it going on, tailor.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. Damien grabbed his things, his head spinning in two different directions. In one direction, he wondered why he kept blacking out. This was not good. It meant he couldn’t jump in and take over if the beast was crossing any lines, which he usually did. In the other direction, Damien wondered what the beast had done to sway the vampire.
Regardless, this was the turn of events he’d been hoping for.
Damien righted his leather pants, grabbed his backpack, and crossed the small wooden bridge stretching over the river. One of the women greeted him on the other side.
“Mind your Ps, Mr. Tailor. And your Qs. Or you’ll have my S up your A.”
Damien blinked. “Sorry?”
She pounded the butt of her spear onto the ground.
“Oh,” he said, “that S and my A. If you’ll simply point me in the direction of the helicopter, I’ll be out of your very lovely long dreadlocks for good.”
She pointed her spear downriver. “Ten minutes that way.”
Damien turned toward the river.
“Hey, tailor?” the woman called out.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder.
“You make sarongs and baby clothes? We have too much hunting to do to make them ourselves. These men eat a lot.”
Suede panties and jungle infant wear?Sure, why the hell not?At this point, his suit shop had lost all dignity the moment two tiny demons moved in. “I am sure we can arrange something to suit your needs.”
Damien headed for the helicopter, grateful that his time in this sticky, wet jungle was over. But somehow he suspected this had been the easiest part.
MF couldn’t believe her luck! That big, gorgeous hunk of a vampire Maxton was finally leaving the jungle.
She’d put on her favorite black lace top and skirt just for the occasion. Though she always felt her long auburn hair and sultry lips were her best features, most of her prior lovers had been into her legs. They were pretty nice, even if on the shorter side. She was a petite gal at five feet three.
I hope Maxton likes big personalities in tiny packages.She scooted closer to him on the plane about to take off, the armrest digging into her hip. “So, what do you want to see first when we get to LA?”
Maxton stared ahead like a mindless zombie, still wearing his extremely worn-out, ancient suit. The thing looked like a relic from a Jane Austen zombie film. Smelled a little musty, too.
“You still reeling over that helicopter ride?” she asked. “Trust me, you’re not the only one. Brutus flies that thing like a crackhead.”
Maxton stared, clearly in shock.
“You’re probably wondering what a crackhead is. I can explain later. But there’s nothing to be afraid of on this plane. It’s like a giant metal bird that—”
“Silence.” Maxton flashed a palm. “I know what an airplane is. I have watched them fly overhead for nearly a century.”
“Sorry. I was just trying to—”
“I know what you are trying to do, MF.” He said her name like it was a curse. “But your cordiality will not convince me to change you. I will not change anyone.”
How did he know that was what she wanted?
