Undead and Unworthy (Undead #7)

Undead and Unworthy (Undead #7) Page 19

We visited Marc later that night. Sure, two o'clock in the morning isn't considered optimum visiting hours, but this wasn't the first late-night trip to this hospital for me. Or even the tenth. I knew who to sidestep, who to put the vampire mojo on, and who didn't give a tin shit if Bin Laden was on the floor, as long as he or she could snag an extra hour of sleep in the on-call room.

"Disgusting," Marc informed me cheerily from his bed, as he played with the tilt settings and television remote control at once. "This hospital's about as secure as the men's rooms in the Target Center. But thanks for coming to see me so fast."

"After my second smoothie, you were all I could think about."

"Tell the truth," he said soberly. "My hair looks awful, doesn't it?"

"Well..." If he considered most of the hair on the right, which was clotted with blood and hopelessly snarled to be awful, then... "At least you've got your health. Oh, wait."

"Aren't you funny." He stretched out his bandaged arms and looked at them. After being stitched up (fifteen stitches in his left arm, twenty-six in his right, thirty-one in his right leg, eighteen in the muscle just below his right nipple, seven stitches to the left of his belly button) , he'd been admitted for overnight observation. "It looked worse than it was, in case you were wondering."

"Actually, I was wondering if you could pull the blanket up a little more."

"Oh." Marc was still staring down at himself, but had yet to notice he was naked.

"I'll, uh, just do that." I bustled around the bed, trying to make myself useful.

He looked pleased. "Now I'm tucked in!"

For the first time I realized his green-eyed gaze was a little cloudy. I peered closer. So did he. Our faces were about an inch apart but, again, Marc didn't seem to think this was at all unusual.

"Jeez," I said, so close my breath (if I had any) would have fogged his glasses (if he wore them). "How much medication are you on?"

"Well, let's see. I had some Valium at the house, and some more on the way to the hospital. (I offered some to Nick, but he said no thanks.) Then in the ER, the intern said - "

"You know what? It doesn't matter. As long as you're okay is all."

"Oh, sure! I'm great! You know, for someone who was trying to kill me, he mostly just knocked me down and got me dirty. I mean, did you see those guys? Covered with mud!"

"Yeah, that's annoying." I fought not to roll my eyes or sneak a peek at the clock on the wall.

"I think he wanted to kill you and was mostly trying to get me out of his way. I'll be sore and itchy for ages, and I'll have spectacular bruising, and maybe a couple of really butch scars, but that's the extent of it. I feel pretty lucky."

"I'm - I'm glad, Marc." He had been lucky, but I was mostly too tormented by guilt. And hunger pangs. I was so thirsty, and the smells generated by the hospital were making me drool. As the queen, I didn't have to feed every night like all the other vampires, and sometimes I made the mistake of pushing it. It had been at least four days. "Also, don't come back."

He absently cracked his knuckles; they sounded like Rice Crispies. "Yep, after tonight it'll be smooth - what?"

"You can't come back until we take care of this Fiend situation."

"Take care of the situation? You're talking like it's a termite infestation!"

"If only," I muttered. "Look, I feel crummy that you got hurt, but you were lucky, and I'm not enough of a twit to put you right back in danger."

He blinked at me slowly, like an owl, and I could tell he was trying to muster an argument. After a long silence he said, "But we have the Super Secret Vampire Tunnels to escape to."

"Yeah, except every one of the Fiends is faster than you and Jess, and what if they cut you off next time? What if Sinclair and I, God forbid, aren't even home next time?"

"But we can - "

"Marc, I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize... you think this is a debate. It's not. You could run to the tunnels, Sinclair and I might be able to protect you, the Fiends might come back but not try to hurt you... whatever, man. Too many maybes for me - you're out."

"But Betsy..." His eyes filled, and he shook his head savagely, making the tears fly. Then he was glaring at me with wet cheeks. "That's my home, same as it is yours. Where can I go?"

"Yeah, about that." Marc wasn't seeing anyone right now (he'd had a fling a month or so ago, but otherwise was something of a dateless wonder), and no family - at least, none he would ever live with ever again. "Where do you want to go? You pick the place, and Sinclair will pay for it. Sinclair and I," I corrected, since technically it was now my fortune, too.

"I don't want to pick anything," Marc began, still pissed, but then I could see the possible advantages of the situation begin to trickle past the fog of drugs. "Uh. Anywhere I want?"

"Anywhere. Until we fix this. The day the Fiends pack it up and go home" - Yeah, sure, that's how this would end - "is the day you move back in."

An expression of vague alarm crossed his features. "But what if the Fiends stay out of sight for, I dunno, two years? Before they make their move? Are you going to keep me out of my home for years?"

"It won't come to that." And try as I might, I just couldn't picture it. Not to be all egotistical or anything, but I couldn't imagine the Fiends could do much of anything until they'd settled with me. Laying back in the buckwheat for a couple of years was definitely not their style. "It absolutely won't. But right now it's too dangerous for you. Of course it's your home, and the day the Fiends are taken care of is the day you come back. But until then..."

I tucked another blanket around Marc and left him sleepily murmuring, "The Radisson? No. The Millennium? No. Sofitel? I know! The Grand! Will they do turndown service for me... ?"