Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(82)

But now Cian was changing and this time Roberto was not certain that he could influence his Master, nor keep his elevated position in his life.

Amaliya had changed everything.

Rubbing his brow, he felt the need for more coffee. He rarely slept, but he was tired now. But he refused to sleep until he sorted out his thoughts and devised a plan of action. Obviously his plan from the day before had failed miserably. He had not been able to be rid of the interloper and now Cian was being an absolute fool.

He poured the coffee slowly into a cup and frowned as he stared into the dark liquid reflecting the morning light. He should have convinced Cian to kill Amaliya the very first night he brought her to the apartment. Now he was uncertain of what to do. He was tied to Cian unless he found another alternative to secure his immortality.

He would miss his time with Cian. For years he had loved Cian as a brother, but then again, he had killed his real brother long ago. Love and hate were not so different when passion was involved.

The doorbell rang and he arched an eyebrow. It rang again a few seconds later and he gently laid the cup on the counter. He slowly walked down the hallway, curious as to who could possibly be at the door. Neither he nor Cian was particularly social and Samantha had her own key.

Peering through the peephole, he saw one of the pretty blonds that lived in the building waiting in the hallway. Roberto had spoken to her on occasion. He had figured out swiftly that she was more interested in his elusive master than in him. It had disappointed him for he thought her breasts were wonderful and in need of caressing. He was very surprised to see her lingering outside their door.

Removing the chain and unlocking it, he slowly opened it. “Heather?

Can I help you?”

She looked a little unsure of herself for a second, then raised the gun and shot him in the chest. “No, I have it covered.”



***

The two dead homeless men The Summoner had sent to help her, stepped out from around the corner, and moved to gather up Roberto's body.



Somewhere in Heather's muddled mind, she was screaming, but the rest of her thoughts were consumed with The Summoner and his commands. He was powerful and she must obey his power. She could feel him, in her apartment, waiting for her. He didn't have to sleep anymore. He had said he was beyond that now and his legions walked both the day and the night.

She wasn't dead yet. She had wondered at first if maybe she was dead. But her heart was still beating unlike the two huge men busy wrapping Roberto up into the hallway rug. Those two men were truly dead. She rubbed the gun against her leg nervously.

What she was doing was wrong, right?

She wasn't sure anymore.

The Summoner called out to her through the darkness of her mind and she moved toward the elevator. Looking down at the gun, the thought of shooting him flickered through her mind. But he needed her. He had told her so.

She needed to obey him. Serve him. Love him. Until he killed her.

***

Sergio was intent on sleeping in. It was Saturday morning and his wife had taken the kids to visit her relatives. Because he had to work a double shift the night before, he had been given a reprieve from his glowering mother-in-law. She absolutely hated him because of his Mexican blood and he absolutely hated her because she was a bitch.

He had woken up long enough to kiss his kids and wife goodbye, then had collapsed onto the sofa to sleep the morning away.

As he dozed, he was dimly aware of the cat lying on his back, kneading his shoulder as her tiny claws lightly scratched him. The sound of the neighborhood kids playing outside tried to pull him from his light slumber and he grumbled. He'd give anything for there to be Saturday morning cartoons again so the kids would be inside being little TV

zombies. Then at least he could sleep deeply.

A loud banging on his front door made him jump. The cat yowled and drew blood as she scampered off.

“Thanks a lot, Tinkerbell,” he muttered, and wondered why he had let the kids name the cat.

Grumbling, he sat up and stared at the door. There was no one visible through the glass panes set in the door in the shape of a fan. Deciding he must have dreamed the banging, he lay back down.

The door shook as the banging started again. This time his grandmother's voice joined the harsh knocks.

“Sergio! Sergio! Open the door!”

Blinking, he sat up again and rubbed his eyes. “Grandmama?”

“Open the door!”

Pulling his undershirt down over his stomach, he staggered to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

His tiny grandmother stood on the stoop clutching her big tote bag with the flag of Texas on it. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe on it and her tiny feet were tucked into bright pink sneakers. “Get dressed. We're going to Austin.”

“Huh?” He rubbed his eyes again and tried to figure out why his grandmother was bugging him on a Saturday morning at the ungodly hour of nine AM.

“Amaliya hasn't answered her phone in two nights and something is wrong. Get your gun.”

“Grandmama, I want to sleep in,” he muttered, and was shoved aside as she barged in.

“No time to sleep.”

“Hey, why do I need a gun?” He shut the door and stared at her in confusion. Sergio's muddled brain couldn't take all this in quite yet and he sat down in his recliner, blinking tiredly.