Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(38)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

What about your mom? She’s still there.

But even her mom had her own life now that Helena was grown. Helena hadn’t really left anything behind in Santa Cruz.

Well, there’s your career. You had to give that up.

Actually, Niccolo never said she’d have to give it up, only that she wouldn’t have to worry about money.

So that just left the question of what was behind door number three? What would her world be like if she had to live as a vampire? She knew it was a must if she wanted Niccolo; otherwise their relationship would always be about him trying not to hurt her. They’d never be intimate either. Total deal-breaker. But could she handle living in his dark world? It seemed so violent and cruel.

He said things would be better after your transformation. Don’t you trust him? He saved your life.

Yes, she did. But he didn’t trust her. That hadn’t changed. He also said he didn’t love her and never could. That mattered.

But so does the fact you want him. And…with time, he might learn to love. Look how long it took you. It was true; Helena had never tried to open her heart to anyone until Niccolo came along.

Helena glanced at Andrus through the rear view mirror. His head was propped against the door, arms crossed against his chest. God—oops—gods, he was beautiful. His thick dark brown hair swirled in random spikes, his dark lashes fanned out along the slit of his closed eyes. His lips had a slight fullness to them, making him appear as though he was puckering for a kiss.

Helena shook her head. He’s still not Niccolo.

There was also something about Andrus she didn’t trust. Maybe that dark cloud following him? Whatever it was, she still couldn’t resist wanting to help him. He was in pain, alone. She could relate.

Chapter 13

“Crap!” Andrus sat up in the backseat of the vacant Hummer. It was parked in an empty lot behind a motel under a shedding tree. Yellow and brown leaves covered the windshield along with a light sprinkle of rain.

He jumped out and scanned the area. Where the hell was Helena? There was no trace of her smell. The rain had washed it away. Could she have gone to the hotel?

He charged toward the side of the building and found the entrance to the reception. A young woman with short strawberry blond hair stood behind the counter. The moment she looked up her smile melted away.

“May I help you?” she asked with a shaky voice.

Andrus leaned over the counter, his height and size easily bringing him a foot from the woman’s face. “I am traveling with a young woman. She has shoulder-length, blond hair. Where is she?”

The woman smiled nervously. She handed him a small envelope with a card key. “The young woman was just here and asked me to direct you to your room.”

Andrus let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Where the hell are we?”

Confused, she answered, “Amarillo, Texas.”

He nodded and turned toward the elevator.

“But,” the clerk added, her voice barely a whisper, “she also asked me to tell you that she’d gone for food.”

“Where?”

The woman backed away from the counter and pointed across the street.

***

Seriously? Is this the only place to get food? What a nasty dive, Helena thought as she pulled open the stainless steel door of the roadside bar.

The parking lot was littered with Harleys, beat up trucks, and, well…litter. The building was worn and nondescript except for a crooked, washed out sign over the entrance that read Bar.

As soon as she opened the second set of doors, her heart stopped and so did every leather-clad man in the cesspool. Every face—unshaven, bearded, or just plain dirty—swiveled towards her.

The inside mirrored the outside decorum: floors and walls painted black, no windows, and one neglected pool table in the corner.

Not exactly an Opentable.com establishment, is it? Neither open, nor any tables.

Helena’s eyes migrated to the only splash of color and light in the entire establishment: a giant neon rainbow over the cash register behind the bar. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird played on the jukebox.

She sighed with relief. Gay bar! Sweet lord, thank you. She lifted her chin, and smiled. “Where can a girl get a killer Mojito around here?”

A few of the men smiled at her and turned back to their conversations. One man, who was wearing leather chaps, jeans, and a leather vest, pointed toward the bar. “Fernando there, makes the meanest Mojito this side of the Caribbean. Just hope you’re a fan of hangovers.”

Fernando—a lanky, tall man with short brown hair—looked up from behind the bar, shaking a martini, and gave her a wink.

Helena bellied up to the only open space at the very end of the bar. For a middle of nowhere g*y bar, the place was packed.

“Mojito, sweetheart?” Fernando asked.

Helena paused, rethinking her choice. “Actually, make it a double Don Pedro and keep em’ coming.”

Tonight she just wanted to forget. Forget that a vampire had broken her heart. Forget that there were gods abducting vampires and making them into Demilords to kill Obscuros. Forget that she was “married” to a vampire she hadn’t actually married and who didn’t love her. God-effing-double dammit, life bit hard!

Pity party again, Helena?

Yes! Okay…Yes! I am having my pity party so…get out the pity-piñata and the pity-pretzels!

Fernando slid a thick tumbler her way. Helena caught it in her hand and threw it back. She wiped her mouth with her hand and nodded to Fernando. He raised one brow and returned to refill her glass.

“Man problems, honey?” Fernando asked as he refilled her glass.

Helena sneered. “You could say that.”

He rested his hand on top of hers. “Let me give you a piece of advice: none of them are worth it. They’ll say anything to get in your pants—promise you the stars—then leave you the minute they get bored. Save yourself the trouble and take up tennis or yoga.”

“Oh, put a clamp on it, Fernando,” said the redheaded man next to her. He was wearing black jeans and a wife-beater. “Don’t listen to him, honey. He’s just bitter because Pepe dumped his ass for a stockbroker.”

Helena’s chest buzzed with warmth as the second double shot took hold. She hit her palm on the bar and said, “That’s because men are pigs! What do you expect?”

Fernando laughed. “See, Joe. She gets it.”

“Maybe the problem isn’t the man, but the toy. I’ve never been dumped,” Joe bragged.

Fernando rolled his eyes. “You’re just in denial.” He moved down the bar to fill empty beer glasses.