purple high tops was shockingly hideous. However, the look was his signature style—or rather lack thereof. The man was a bit scaly and his eyes were a tad too close together, but that wasn’t surprising when one considered he could morph into a massive lizard… hence the name.
He was loyal to a fault and had negotiated an excellent deal for me on the film version of my bestselling book. The fact that he was terrifying to the general public, carried a baseball bat and rudely smacked gum at all times only added to his bizarre mystique.
“Hello Lizard,” I said, trying my best not to acknowledge his heinous mates.
“Sire, may I be so bold as to ask why you have a sword lodged in your abdomen?” Lizard inquired politely.
Damnit, I’d forgotten all about the sword. In the hour before Lizard and his undead concubines had arrived, I’d made good on my promise to gore myself. It had definitely raised Elle’s spirits to watch me shove sharp metal objects into my body. Honestly, after a while I'd enjoyed it—or at least I'd enjoyed her laughter. I’d stabbed myself with scissors, a letter opener, a cake knife, and a candelabra before the grand finale of the sword through my gut. My lover had laughed so hard she wore herself out and fell asleep promptly when the painful show concluded. I’d tucked her into bed and hoped like Hell this was a passing phase. I healed immediately but impaling oneself was uncomfortable.
“Testing out the blade,” I said casually as I pulled the massive weapon from my stomach and laid it on my desk.
“I’ve never tried that,” Lizard said with admiration in his beady little eyes. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” I said as he took the sword and plunged it into his gut.
“Very sharp,” he choked out as he paled a bit.
“Yes, well, it is a sword,” I said, wincing slightly as he pulled it back out.
While I enjoyed barbaric pastimes greatly, I relished them more when they were deserved. Lizard was a good, albeit it odd one, and he certainly didn’t deserve a self-inflicted hole in his stomach. However, the alternative was unacceptable. There was no way in Hell I was about to share the real reason I’d stabbed myself. The truth did not set a person free. It was messy and complicated—very much like Elle’s behavior lately. But that was not why I’d summoned Lizard.
“Lookin’ good, Sexy La Tuchus,” Jane announced as she grabbed her own sagging ass just in case I’d misunderstood her.
Sadly, I hadn’t. It took everything I had not to electrocute the old woman.
“Foxy Rump never disappoints,” Martha agreed, adjusting her sagging bosom in the scrap of fabric covering the offending area. “But don’t you worry your ginormous pecker, Lizard. The only sexy piece of man meat we wanna do the horizontal mambo with is you.”
Lizard grinned from ear to ear as he mopped up the blood pouring from his gut with his ghastly headwear. I watched in disbelief as he placed the blood-soaked green beret back on his head and grabbed his crotch in appreciation as his mates squealed and did a few pornographic gyrations. The bile in my stomach rose to my throat.
Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the visual of the two old bags. Normally, Vampyres were ridiculously attractive. Martha and Jane defied the odds. The bright orange sequined tube tops barely covering their sagging bosoms, paired with yellow booty shorts, black socks and sandals was more than enough to make me smite them to ash where they stood. But that was out of the question. For some unfathomable reason, Lizard adored the women—for lack of a better term. Also, Astrid had a soft spot for the idiots as they’d help save her son Samuel.
My niece, in a moment of weakness—or compassion— had the two old women turned when they’d been dying at her feet. Astrid had lived to regret her actions daily. The old freaks of nature were nightmares. As much as I’d enjoy eliminating the aged Vamps, it was a no go. Restraining myself was giving me a headache. Social niceties were bullshit.
“Let me get right to the point,” I stated, shoving my hands into my pockets so I didn’t accidentally on purpose decapitate Martha and Jane.
“Now you just hold your camel toe for a second,” Martha said, making herself comfortable on the black leather couch. “Me and Jane wanna ghostwrite the sequel to your book. We can do way better than Chesty