Vampire Soul Box Set (Vampire Romantic Comedy) Read online

  I frowned and looked him up and down. "Do you really know how to drive?"

  "Fluently," he assured me.

  "Then you're speaking my language," I quipped. I slipped into the car and he closed the door behind me. He got into the driver's seat and started the car without buckling up. "Afraid a seat belt is going to stake you?"

  Roland smiled and backed up the car. "Immortals do not fear death. It's living that's our greatest challenge."

  "Speaking of immortals, where's your soul box, anyway?" I asked him.

  He nodded his head to the back seat. "Never far."

  I looked over my shoulder and saw the devil box on the seat. "That better not leave a stain on the fake leather, or I'm taking it out of your wings," I warned him.

  "Vampires do not turn into bats. We can only fly," he corrected me.

  "My mistake. It must suck only being able to fly," I quipped.

  "It would be much easier to change into a bat. We would have more places to hide," he mused.

  "So how 'we' are there?" I wondered.

  He pursed his lips together. "Enough to cause a great deal of trouble if a few of us ever united."

  "So no Kumbayah by moonlight for you vampires? Or does saying 'My Lord' cause you guys to combust?" I mused.

  Roland smiled and his eyes flickered to me. "You seem to have an endless fountain of sayings."

  "It comes with the territory, but you didn't really answer my questions," I countered.

  His smile dropped off his face faster than my bank account at bill day. "Do you really want to know more about vampires? In my world knowledge is dangerous."

  I leaned back in my seat and shrugged. "You already said I was down the rabbit hole. I might as well keep digging."

  Roland looked straight ahead at the road. "We vampires are generally reclusive creatures. There are occasions where we can tolerate each other for a few decades, but the strain of keeping up the appearance of normalcy for two people is generally not worth the effort. If we were to ever pool our resources some of us who are quite wealthy could influence a great many of human affairs, but that has not occurred."

  I looked him over. "So how wealthy are we talking?"

  "I could buy your car a million times over," he replied.

  I snorted. "Is that it?" I kicked the glove compartment in front of me. The air conditioner spewed out dirt, and something clanged in the engine compartment.

  "Several million times over," he corrected himself. I reached down and pulled aside the rug beneath my feet to reveal a large hole and the fast-moving road beneath us. "Perhaps your car isn't the best analogy for my wealth."

  "Only if you're a pauper," I quipped. I leaned back and looked him over. "What about religious stuff? Are you terrified of crosses or Stars of David, or do they just give you a rash?"

  "It depends," he replied.

  "On what?"

  "On the willpower of the wielder," he told me.

  "Mind translating that out of gibberish?" I asked him.

  "All strengths are inherent in a person's being. That strength is their willpower, their-"

  I held up my hand. "I know what willpower is, but what's that got to do with crosses?"

  "You are very persistent," he noted.

  "And you are very bad at changing the discussion," I returned.

  "I'm sorry, it's habit. I'm not used to speaking about myself or my kind," he revealed. "In the past if a human ever learned about us they were dealt with through means other than talking."

  "These 'means' ever end with the guy resembling a sun-dried raisin?" I guessed.

  "Often."

  "Then let's pretend I'm one of you," I suggested.

  He smiled. "I will try, but that only distracts me."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

  His eyes looked me over. "Because you would make a very fetching vampire bride."

  I frowned and folded my arms across my chest. "I'm sticking with this bachelorette lifestyle. Besides-" I jerked my thumb at the box behind us, "-somebody has to make sure Junior there doesn't get kidnapped during the day. Now what's so important about willpower and crosses?"

  "Any item can repel a vampire so long as the wielder has greater willpower than the vampire," he explained.

  "Wait, so if I raised a spork I could fend off a vampire?" I asked him.

  "That would be a very unconventional weapon, but yes, a spork would work," he told me.

  "What about salt and pepper shakers?"

  "Those, too, would work."

  "A rake?"

  "Yes."

  "A garden hose?"

  "Yes."

  "What about-"

  "Let us assume everything in the person's possession would work," he interrupted me.

  "If the willpower is strong enough," I added.

  "Yes."

  "So how does one get strong enough willpower to-say-get rid of an annoying vampire that's unintentionally been invited inside one's apartment?" I wondered.

  He smiled that crooked smile of his. "I believe we made a deal."

  I shrugged. "But I didn't pinky swear."

  Roland hit the breaks so hard I heard my neck crack like bubble wrap packaging. The car screeched across a dozen yards of road and came to a stop a hundred yards from the outskirts of town. My seat belt tried to save my life by strangling me, and by the time I got my air back I wasn't too happy. I whipped my head to Roland who sat there glaring at me.

  "I'm still a member of the living, remember?" I yelled at him.

  "You swore to protect my soul," he reminded me.

  "I can't do that if I'm permanently dead!" I shot back.

  He held one hand in front of him and pricked one of the fingers with his other hand. A thin streak of blood slid down his finger and into his palm. His eyes turned to me, and then he turned his head.

  "Give me your hand."

  "Hell no. Bloodletting went out with the Middle Ages," I quipped.

  "We will make a blood pact. It will seal your promise," he explained. He held out his hand. "Now give me your hand."

  I folded my arms and tucked my hands in my arm pits. "I was just joking. If I say I'm going to protect your soul, I'm going to do it. There's no-"

  "This will ensure you keep your promise," he insisted.

  "By doing what?" I questioned him.

  "You will be bound to protect the box even if it costs you your life," he told me. "If the box is in danger, you will sense it and come to its rescue."

  I narrowed my eyes. "This doesn't sound like a typical damsel-in-distress type of rescue. Am I doing this because I want to or because this blood pact would make me?"

  "The blood pact would force you to keep your word," he explained.

  I tightened my jaw and looked him in his clear blue eyes. "Listen here. If I told you I'm going to-"

  "I still wish for-"

  "Just listen to me," I pleaded. He shut his mouth, but his stiff jaw told me he wasn't happy about it. "I know I'm human, and I know you're worried because I was shoved into this mess kind of against my will, but I'm going to keep word as a human and not as some zombie blood slave that I will protect your soul. No. Matter. What." I waved my hand at his bloody finger. "I don't need some blood transfusion to be a good person. I just need you to lighten up and take a joke every now and then." I looked away from him and frowned. "It's not like I can take all this stuff in at once and keep a straight face. I mean, a spork? Really?"

  I was surprised to hear a chuckle from him. I looked his way and saw his eyes were closed, but he was smiling. "I concede."

  I raised an eyebrow. "That's it? No forcing me to change my blood from A+ to V-?"

  Roland shook his head. "No. I'd forgotten why I went in search of a human to guard my soul and not some other daylight creature."

  "And why is that?" I asked him.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Humans have infinite possibility. They can become the worst nature can produce, or the best any creature can become."


  "And I fall under that 'best' category, right?" I wondered.

  He bowed his head. "I chose you just for that reason.

  "So what now?" I added.

  He looked forward and pulled the car into the road. "Now we get some rest. It'll be daylight soon and contrary to other legends vampires truly are vulnerable during the day."

  I sighed and slumped down in my seat. "You and me both."

  CHAPTER 3

  We reached my apartment a few minutes later and Roland parked the car in my spot. I got the box from the back and looked over the car top at Roland who stood by the driver's door.

  "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you." I walked to the front door of the building, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I turned and saw Roland was following me. "Shouldn't you be going back to your coffin?"

  "I am," he replied.

  I glanced at my apartment and back to him. A horrible realization dawned on me. "You didn't."

  "Didn't what?" he returned.

  I looked past him at my car. There was a distinct layer of farmland dust all over it. I turned to him and narrowed my eyes. "Get it out."

  "Get what out?" he asked me.

  I pointed at my floor. "Get it out of my apartment."

  "I don't-"

  "Don't play dumb with me, vampire," I snapped. I held out the box. "I said I'd babysit this during the day. There wasn't anything about me getting a new roommate."

  "But I would be much safer there than anywhere else," he protested.

  "Why?" I snapped.

  "Because no one can enter your apartment against your wishes save for humans," he explained.

  "Get it out of my apartment or I'm going to have a bonfire on the roof," I warned him.

  A window above us slid open and one of my neighbors stuck their head out. It was one of the older women with her graying hair in curlers and her face caked with tapioca. "Shut up! Some people are trying to sleep!" She pulled her head back in and slammed the window shut. Her slam woke up a half dozen of our neighbors and I saw a few lights flicker on.

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed Roland by the wrist. "Inside or we'll be sleeping the day away in a nice, comfy cell with a guy named Bubba."

  I yanked him inside and to my apartment. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. There it was. Roland's comfy coffin sitting in the middle of my living room. I dropped my hold on the knob, half-turned to him, and pointed at the hollow coffee table.

  "Couldn't you have put that somewhere else?" I asked him.

  "There was only your bedroom," he pointed out.

  I stalked over to a closet in the small hall near the bathroom and my bedroom, and flung it open. "What about here?"

  "That is a little cramped," he protested.

  I clutched the box in my hands and glared at him. "I swore to protect this box, but I didn't say anything about your coffin or you."

  "Without me there would be no soul, and without my coffin there would be no me," he argued.

  I groaned and ran my hand through my hair. "Isn't there some abandoned hotel or old castle you can haunt?"

  "None in this area," he replied.

  My shoulders slumped. I tossed the box onto the couch and joined it on another cushion. "So I'm stuck with you?"

  "So it would seem."

  "Any way you can pay half the rent?"

  "If that is what you wish?"

  "What I wish is for a really long sleep," I told him.

  Roland smiled and walked over so he stood in front of me. His eyes glowed red and I felt myself falling into one of his trances. "Then sleep peacefully."

  The next thing I knew I was on my bed with the sheets pulled over my work clothes. My eyes widened, and I sat up and patted my neck and wrists. No marks of entry there. I sighed and glanced out the window. The sun told me it was late in the afternoon. Roland gave me what I wanted, and gotten out of any more of my questions, too.

  I swung my legs over my bed and ran a hand through my wild hair. "Misty, when did your life get this strange."

  I knew when it was. It was that night with Charlie. That was when I remembered I hadn't called him. The guy last night mentioned he'd talked to him about the family deaths. That meant Charlie was among the living, or doing a good imitation of it. Roland didn't do such a good imitation of it.

  "Stupid eyes. . ." I grumbled as I shifted to the edge of the bed. My hand hit something beneath the covers. I pulled aside the sheets and felt the color drain from my face.

  There sat the box of doom.

  I jumped to my feet and spun around to face the rug-melting culprit. It sat there and stared at me. I slid over to the bed and reached over to give a quick tap on the lid. Nothing. I sighed and picked up the box, and turned it over in my hands. There wasn't anything especially demonic about the thing, but it gave me a bad vibe.

  I put the box down, pulled off my apron and had my shirt half off when I remembered I had a guest, or I did last night. I crept over to my closed door and pressed my ear against it. Everything was as silent as the grave. That didn't tell me whether that portable grave was still in my living room or not. I peeked out and groaned.

  It was still there.

  I walked out and looked over the coffin. It looked just like the times I'd seen it at the farmhouse. I tried the lid. It didn't budge.

  "Paranoid much?" I muttered. I tapped on the lid. "Anybody home?" I called. No answer. "What am I supposed to do with the box?" There was grave silence in the apartment.

  Oh well. With him locked inside I had my home to myself again. Sort of. I slipped out of my work clothes and into some comfortable ones. The laundry basket was officially overflowing. Any more days without washing and I'd be in a bad horror movie fending off my soiled underwear and sweat-stained shirts.

  There was just problem, and that problem was square. Not uncool, just square. I looked at the box on my bed and sighed. Only one thing to do with a child, and that was eat it. On second thought, that wasn't a good idea with this baby. I stuffed it into my clothes and took my basket of into the hall.

  That was when I ran into the same guy I'd ran into yesterday evening. My basket was like buttered toast: the top dropped onto the ground and everything spilled onto the floor. The edge of the box poked out of a pair of underwear. I slammed the door shut behind me before he could get a look at my new graveyard decor.

  "I'm so sorry," the guy told me as he bent down.

  "No, it's my fault," I argued as I reached for the basket and box.

  Our heads conked together like two empty coconut shells. We jerked back and rubbed our bruised heads. He sheepishly grinned at me.

  "I seem to be making a wrong second impression," he commented.

  "And a deep one," I quipped as I felt the indent from his hard head.

  He chuckled and dropped his hand to hold it out to me. "My name is Owen Alston. You must be Misty-"

  "Just Misty, at least to all my friends," I replied as I shook his hand.

  "Then am I one of your friends?" he wondered.

  I rubbed my head and grinned. "If I was recruiting for a football team you would be my first-round draft pick."

  He bowed his head. "I'll take that as a compliment, and I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time." He directed his eyes to the laundry on the floor.

  "Only if you mind walking," I told him as I gathered up the stuff. "And don't mind being near a toxic waste dump."

  "Your idea of multi-tasking sounds risky," he teased.

  "But to save both my life and my whites it must be done," I quipped as I hefted the basket onto one hip. "Follow me and tell me what's on your mind."

  He held out his hands. "Let me carry the basket," he offered.

  "Sorry. I made a solemn oath to protect this basket," I told him as I skirted around his outstretched hands.

  Alston hurried after me as I strode down the hall. "I'm here as a representative of a client. I'm an attorney by profession."

  "My condolences," I commented as we walked down the stairs.
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  He smiled. "It's not so bad. The pay is more than adequate, though the clients do call at all hours. This particular client of mine is very interested in meeting you."

  I stopped at the ground floor and turned to him. "Why? Does he have my ship that's been floundering at sea for years?"

  Alston chuckled. "Not quite, but he can promise a very generous reward for some information."

  I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of info?"

  "I'm afraid that's confidential, but he's eager to discuss matters with you at any time, provided it's after dinner," he told me.

  "Likes to mix his business with pleasure?" I guessed.

  Alston smiled, and there was something in those pretty green eyes I didn't like. All my waitress alarms went off. It was like the time one of the truckers told me he'd had some problems with his truck and asked me to go look at his engine. I went out to the parking lot with him and learned he wanted something other than his truck's engine tuned. I fine-tuned him by giving him a higher octave and told him not to come back.

  "My client is completely immersed in his work. His work is pleasure, and his pleasure is work," Alston explained.

  "Sounds like a tough client," I commented as I turned to a door nearby. It was propped open with an old brick and led down some stairs to the basement.

  Alston followed. "There are benefits to the arrangement we have, but that isn't what's important right now. He is very interested in meeting you."

  "He'll have to wait. I've got to save the world from my laundry," I commented as we walked into the small basement. There was a line of coin-operated washes and drivers on the wall opposite the stairs. I took an empty washer and started stuffing all the clothes inside.

  "It would be wiser if you separated your colors from your whites," he pointed out.

  Not with a hidden box in the middle of the mess. "I like to live dangerously," I told him.

  "Then you will come with me?" he asked me.

  I slammed the door shut and held out my arm. "Stand back."

  He frowned. "Why-" I kicked the side of the washer with the side of my foot. The machine whirled to life and started to fill. Alston turned to me with admiration in his eyes. "Very well-done, Misty."