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"Weldon, if I had any way to do it, I would march right out of this house and leave you and Winkler to your own affairs," I said, my hands on my hips. "It's bad enough being dead to the world between dawn and dusk, but to be manhandled by somebody in the meantime? Does the Council know about this?" I figured if Gavin knew about it, he'd be having a fit and on his way to North Dakota if he didn't have an assignment to take care of.
"Um, Wlodek is the one who suggested it, in case we needed to move about during the day," Weldon offered sheepishly.
"You know, I've never called the Head of the Vampire Council a rat bastard before, but I'm thinking about it now. Rest assured he wouldn't let somebody treat his most holy self this way." I was mad and thinking that all of Weldon's newly decorated log home might be turned to kindling in a matter of minutes.
"Lissa, we'll take good care of you, I promise," Weldon said.
"Weldon, if you knew how close your house was to becoming toothpicks, you'd save those empty words for later," I snapped.
"Lissa, you should know we won't let anything happen to you during the day," Winkler was now making an attempt at reassurance.
"William Wayne Winkler, do not even try." I swatted his hand away as I blazed past him. The bedroom door was nearly torn from its hinges when I slammed it behind me.
"I didn't think she was going to take that well," Weldon muttered, but of course I heard.
No way was I going to wear pajamas. No way. I went ahead and took a quick shower, dressing in navy fleece pants and a t-shirt. I also kept a bra on and I hate going to sleep in a bra. My hair was braided, too, so I wouldn't have bed head. At least I hoped I wouldn't. Who the hell would be picking me up and stuffing me inside a zippered bag? Would they be taking liberties? The whole thing pissed me off and I would have tossed and turned if that was possible. The last thing I put on before conking out at sunrise was socks.
* * *
"If I didn't know from the smell, I'd say she wasn't vampire," Kelvin said as he lifted Lissa up and laid her inside the body bag that Winkler held open. "She doesn't weigh much. Seems like she should be more, oh, substantial, I suppose."
"I wouldn't say that to her face," Winkler said. "She's substantial enough to put you through a wall, along with a dozen of your closest friends."
"Are all vampire women that pretty?" Kelvin watched as Winkler carefully zipped Lissa inside the bag. He'd laid an extra black cloth over her face and the front of her body; he didn't want any burns from leaking daylight.
"There are precious few vampire women," Winkler said. "The vampires would never have agreed to this if it weren't important, and since she's considered Pack, she was the logical choice. Weldon had to pull as many strings as he could, still, to convince them. She's a rarity, or so I've heard."
"Is she going to be able to breathe in there if she wakes up?"
"I have the alarm set on my watch for half an hour before sunset," Winkler said. "We should have her someplace safe enough to open the bag by then, in case she's claustrophobic or anything. I didn't get a chance to ask her last night and we've got extra bags in case she punches right through this one."
"I guess there's that," Kelvin nodded. He was getting his education in vampire 101 on this assignment. According to his paperwork, he'd just finished his residency at a New Mexico hospital, moved to Dallas to join the Pack and Winkler had agreed to set him up in his own practice when he got back after this assignment. Kelvin just didn't have experience with what he termed the undead.
Winkler's private jet waited at the airport in Grand Forks. All the luggage was loaded in, along with Lissa's body bag, which Winkler tossed over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Weldon was the one to suggest making it look like a garment bag, so they'd placed loops on the ends to give that effect. They made it to Des Moines just as the sun was setting on a mid-November evening. Winkler's watch went off so he walked to the back of the jet where Lissa's bag had been stretched out in the floor.
"We'll wait until she wakes to take her off," Weldon came up behind Winkler, who was kneeling in the floor, waiting for the first signs of life. Winkler glanced at the windows; dusk was settling around Des Moines International Airport. He unzipped the top of the bag and pulled the black cloth away from Lissa's face. He'd watched her wake before and it always sent tingles through him, watching her take the first breath of the evening. This time, however, she must have remembered what they were doing because she came awake with a start, gasping in a breath and trying to claw her way out of the bag. Winkler knew then that she was a tiny bit claustrophobic.
"Stay away from the claws!" Weldon jerked Winkler back; he'd been trying to get to Lissa.
"Lissa, listen to me," Weldon soothed after he'd shoved Winkler into a seat off to the side. Winkler was awkwardly trying to climb out of it again. "Lissa, you're all right. We're in Des Moines, sweetheart." Lissa's eyes were wild as she ripped the carpet on the jet's floor with deadly claws, all of which were extended to their full, one-foot length.
"Jesus, I didn't know they were that long," Kelvin came to stand behind Weldon.
"Shut up," Winkler hissed. "Lissa, wake up, baby. It's just us. Nobody's here to hurt you."
* * *
I blinked, seeing nothing at first. My breaths were ragged and I was shivering as I tried to come to terms with unfamiliar surroundings. Winkler's voice was in my ears but I didn't understand what he was saying at the moment. Disorientation was clouding my brain and I blinked again. "Lissa, nobody's here to hurt you." Winkler repeated off to my right. Slowly I focused on him while sight and colors returned. I was in the floor of his jet, my claws were extended and my breaths trembled in my lungs.
"Lissa, you can stop shredding the carpet, now." Weldon's voice, this time. Looking down at my hands, I noticed that I had indeed shredded Winkler's carpet. Like he couldn't get it replaced—probably in the next five minutes if he wanted. No way was I going to apologize for that. I was still sitting inside a half-zipped body bag on the floor of his jet. My claws retracted and Weldon breathed a sigh of relief.
"Want some help out of there?" he asked.
"No, thank you," I said as stiffly as I could. It wasn't the most graceful thing I've ever done, but I crawled out of the bag on my own.
Winkler offered to carry me off the plane. I offered to remove his liver. He allowed me to walk down the steps on my own. The Des Moines Packmaster (I'd never gotten his name when he'd introduced himself to Weldon at the werewolf meeting earlier in the year), was there waiting for us. All I remembered from our previous meeting was his smell and that he'd taken down someone named Corwin, whom Weldon had obviously liked. The man was around five-ten, stocky and looked to be pure muscle. No way could he take Winkler or Weldon, though. No way. This guy had probably gone as far as he could go.
