Revenge and the Wild(19)

She leaned against Costin to share in the coldness of his skin. His breathing quickened, legs tightening around her, almost painfully so, but she didn’t care. His cold body was the only thing keeping the nausea back.

She closed her eyes and felt some relief as the chill of his lips settled against the side of her neck.

When his mouth opened and his fangs grazed her skin, the muscles in her shoulders tensed.

“Don’t you bite me,” she said like she would to a frisky pup.

Laughter rumbled in his chest and he closed his mouth, but left his lips lingering. When they approached the house, he sat back. Westie opened her eyes and saw Alistair sitting in a rocking chair on the porch.

Westie grumbled. She’d locked her bedroom door when sneaking out and had hoped she’d be able to sneak back in without anyone noticing she’d been missing.

Alistair stood. “Costin?” He didn’t seem to like the vampire much and had many of the same opinions as Nigel. They were always talking about the brothel, as well as Costin, being the bane of Rogue City. Westie didn’t care about the brothel, though. A person had a right to make a living and do with their body as they pleased, in her opinion. “What are you doing with Westie?” His mask made it impossible for him to sound upset, but Westie could tell. He always breathed heavier when he was mad, which forced air through the mask’s voice box, causing the internal gears to grind. If that wasn’t enough of an indication of his mood, the fiery look in his eyes got the point across.

Regret filled her. She hadn’t wanted him to see her drunk ever again.

Costin seemed undisturbed by Alistair’s reaction. “I’m helping her to get home safely.” He climbed off the horse and reached out to her. She slid into his arms.

“I’ll take it from here,” Alistair said, stepping forward.

“As you wish,” Costin said.

Somewhere behind her sloshy thoughts, Westie knew she should protest being passed around like a sack of grain, but she was too far into the bottle to care.

Alistair stumbled backward, nearly falling, when Costin released her.

“Jesus, she’s heavy,” Alistair said.

“Hey,” Westie mumbled.

Costin laughed and caught Alistair before he toppled over with Westie in his arms.

“Let me go—I can walk on my own,” Westie said, pushing at Alistair’s chest, not liking the way he was suddenly taking charge of her after he’d ignored her for so long.

When he released her, she canted a bit but managed to stay on her feet.

She said good-bye to Costin and leaned forward to politely kiss his cheek—and if it pissed Alistair off, so be it—but when Costin turned his head abruptly, their lips met instead.

Westie was too stunned to pull away at first, even when she felt his mouth part and the tip of his tongue brush against her lips. It wasn’t until Alistair made an ugly grating sound with his mask that she finally reeled back, looking between Costin’s lazy smile and Alistair’s wide-eyed mortification.

She thought about slapping Costin because that was what she should do, but hitting a vampire with her left hand would be ineffective, and using her machine could knock out his fangs, which seemed far too rash for the situation.

She touched her lips, willing herself to curse Costin or say something, anything, to stop Alistair from looking at her like that, but no words would come. If she had been being honest with herself, the kiss wasn’t entirely unpleasant except for Alistair being there to witness it.

The front door to the house opened and Nigel walked out, wrapped in his dressing gown.

“Alley,” Westie said as Alistair pushed past Nigel and went into the house. There was a slight thrill seeing his anger, but there was guilt too. She didn’t like seeing him upset.

“What’s the meaning of all this noise?” Nigel demanded. His eyes locked onto Westie’s, lips pressed together. “Oh, I see.” Westie looked at the ground, shame heating her cheeks. She tried to focus on a single rock in front of her to keep from tipping over. “Get to bed,” he said with a disappointed sag in his voice. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

She was more than happy to oblige.





Nine


Despite a vicious hangover, Westie woke early the next morning. She wanted to be out of the house before Nigel woke up so she wouldn’t have to talk about the Fairfields.

She couldn’t blame him for not believing they were cannibals. Her memories were not always reliable. Once, when she’d first gone out looking for the killers of her family, there’d been a woman slain and eaten by cannibals in the valley where Westie had gone hunting. She had seen a man lingering in the town nearby who’d had the same beard, build, and deep-set menacing eyes as the man who’d cut off her arm. Taking him off his guard by playing the part of damsel in distress, she’d managed to knock him out and string him up by his feet.

Though no other authorities believed there were cannibals in the valley, Westie had managed to convince Nigel and the sheriff both that there were, and that the man in her possession was one of them. But just as the man was about to be hanged for his crime, his brother came to town with proof that the accused man had just flown in from New York on an airship days before and couldn’t have been the one who’d killed and eaten the young woman the week before.