One Immortal - Tia Louise Page 0,32

with us, nuzzling my arm. Come on, partner. Let’s get out of here.

My hands are fisted in the dead thing’s coat, and my stomach is a tight ball of rage. Betrayal washes through me in burning waves. Sloan killed Alison. My friend, my mentor. Her murderer.

Derek, it’s time to go. Stuart stands on the crypt facing me, compassion in his eyes. A low rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. Clouds are rolling in, erasing any traces of light from the cemetery.

I relax my grip on the dead monster, and his body falls with a dull thud to the stones. One quick swipe with the razor-sharp knife, and I remove his head from his body. Before we leave, I toss matches on the three dead vampires. They’ll burn quickly and cleanly, and the ash will wash away with tonight’s storm.

* * *

Melissa

I got a reprieve from dinner with the shifter. Patrick texted he had a sudden job and needed to reschedule. Without going into how relieved I’d felt, I happily ordered room service and Pitch Perfect for us to watch.

My appetite still hasn’t returned, but I take a few bites of the barbecue shrimp I ordered. Truthfully, I’m more interested in splitting a bottle of white wine. My emotions have been drawn tight as a bow since lunch.

The evening started that way, at least. Us relaxing, watching the characters sing-off in a drained swimming pool, when without warning, my friend hops off the couch and starts pacing the room wringing her hands.

“What’s the matter with you?” I frown, watching her.

“Something happened to Patrick,” she whispers. “He’s been hurt.”

Pushing myself up straighter on the couch, I watch her walk. Her hand flutters to her forehead, and her eyes close. A little frown, and I know she’s straining to get more information.

“If he’s a shifter, he’ll be okay,” I whisper, wanting to comfort her but not wanting to interfere with whatever she might be hearing or seeing. “Don’t they have super healing power?”

Suddenly she stops. She pauses a few moments, and she exhales loudly. “Oh my god.” Her fingers spread wide, and she starts shaking her hands. “He’s okay. Oh my god, he’s going to be okay.”

Jumping up, I go over to her and catch her hands, pulling her to the bed. She blinks and focuses on my eyes. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

A nervous little laugh shakes her shoulders, and her chin drops. “I don’t know.”

I survey our small, dark room and make a decision. “Let’s go out.”

She frowns, watching me as I go to the closet. “But I thought… You said you felt bad. You wanted a quiet evening.”

“Patrick knows what he’s doing, and we need to get out of this room.” I take out a silky red dress with spaghetti straps. “You’re about to go crazy cooped up in here, and if you go crazy, where does that leave me?”

My best friend shakes her head and steps to the closet. “If you’re sure about this.” She takes out a yellow dress similar to the one I’m holding.

“We’re supposed to be having a girls’ weekend in New Orleans.” I say, as the fabric slides over my head. “What kind of lame girls are we sitting in this room watching movies?”

“The kind that had some pretty heavy information dropped on us at lunch.” She slips her dress over her slim hips and pulls the zipper. “I’m fine staying in with you.”

“I think wallowing is the worst thing we can do. Besides, I know you want to find him.”

She doesn’t argue.

A quick look in the mirror, and I see my makeup from earlier is still in place. A dusting of powder, a little lipstick, and we’re heading down, into the night.

Twenty minutes later, the bottom falls out. Rain pours down, and we dash, shrieking into the closest bar for shelter.

“Lafitte’s!” Elaine is breathless as we look around the dark, brick-interior of the ancient blacksmith shop-turned bar.

The place isn’t wired for electricity, which still blows my mind. Candles in small glass bowls are the only lights in the very dark establishment. It doesn’t matter to my new eyes. I easily see a few patrons sitting at the bar, and we walk slowly past the large, brick fireplace to the center of the room.

“I’ll order us some cocktails,” Elaine says. “You find a table.”

Walking slowly through the semi-crowded place, I try not to make eye contact with anyone. Lafitte’s is supposedly haunted, and while communicating with the dead is old hat