The Fangover (The Fangover #1)(34)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Cort wondered if obedient Ed had been his best man.

“Just one drink,” Betty said, tugging Katie’s arm.

Katie grimaced, clearly wanting to rip her arm out of the woman’s grasp, but she was too polite. Cort definitely knew that about his wife. She was always so kind and sweet.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke,” the parrot suddenly decided to pipe up. The damned drunk.

Both Betty and Ed laughed. “See, even your bird needs a little hair of the dog. Plus, I want to show you all the pictures I took at your party. I couldn’t take any of the wedding, of course, because I was in it, and you know Ed, useless with technology.”

Of course, Cort thought. Silly Ed.

Still, there were pictures of the wedding party? Cort looked at Katie, her expression stating that she’d rather be anywhere else right now, but when their eyes met, she nodded.

She wanted to look at the pictures, too.

What couple didn’t want to look at photos of their forgotten wedding? Or, in this case, wedding party.

Katie smiled at the woman. “I guess one drink would be fine.”

The couple looked tickled. Okay, Betty looked tickled. Ed looked relieved that his wife was getting her way. And Katie still smiled. Only Cort would know that smile wasn’t her real one. Her real smile lit up her whole face and made her deep blue eyes shimmer with true joy. That smile was beautiful enough to fill him with awe.

His body reacted just thinking about it. Kind of sad, given he knew she was feeling anything but joyous at the moment.

Betty continued to hold Katie’s arm as they started down Toulouse toward Bourbon.

“Elvis fan, huh?”

Cort started, surprised that Ed had spoken before being told to do so. Ed pointed to the cookie jar.

“Oh yeah, but this belongs to a friend of ours.”

Ed nodded as if it was perfectly reasonable that Cort was wandering around Bourbon Street carrying a cookie jar. An Elvis cookie jar at that.

Cort supposed there was something to be said for Ed’s long-suffering ways. He just didn’t question.

Maybe that’s what they all should be doing.

But when he looked at Katie, listening to Betty’s story with that fake smile plastered to her face, he knew he had to ask questions and get the answers. For her, at least.

Johnny White’s was several blocks back in the direction they’d come from, and if Cort had been thinking clearly and not fixating on Katie and her lackluster feelings toward their marriage, he’d have suggested they go back to Burgundy, then cut back down to Bourbon.

It was longer to go that way, but it wasn’t as if ole Ed was going to question his reasoning. And Betty was too busy chattering Katie’s ear off to notice anyway. And that would have kept them off Bourbon for a majority of the walk.

He studied Katie. She was doing a good job holding it together, but he could see that Bourbon Street was overwhelming her. Crowds and lights and noise were extreme sensory overload for a new vampire. It was like bringing a newborn to a rock concert. Not pleasant and not well-tolerated.

At his age, he barely registered the glaring lights, blaring music, and masses of revelers. But for Katie, the whole experience had to be downright torture. He’d seen that even Lafitte’s had been difficult, and this was like Lafitte’s times a thousand.

Betty still had her arm looped through Katie’s and she continued to babble away, but Cort could see his wife wasn’t truly paying attention.

She couldn’t. Too many other stimuli bombarded her. And he could tell by the way her blue eyes darted from one thing to another, not really focusing, and the deathly paleness of her skin, she wanted to bolt. To just escape.

“Betty,” he said, stepping up on the other side of Katie, “I hate to be so greedy, but I’m already missing my bride. Do you mind if I steal her away?”

Betty instantly released Katie’s arm, grinning. “Of course not.”

Cort shifted the cookie jar to the same side as the parrot. Katie didn’t need that damned thing squawking, or pecking at her. Or singing. Man, he was so sick of the singing already.

He reached for Katie, tucking her against his side with his free arm. Again she surprised him with her willingness to lean against him. He knew she had to resent him. After all, she was feeling this way thanks to him.

Betty moved over to take Ed’s hand, apparently moved by new romance.

Cort leaned his head toward Katie’s, his mouth near her ear. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly. Soothingly. “Just focus on my voice.”

She nodded, not speaking, and he suspected she couldn’t. It was all too much.

“Just listen to me, focus on me.” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm, in slow, reassuring strokes. “Listen to the sound of my voice and my touch.”

* * *

KATIE WANTED TO groan with relief, which was still all she could do even though the sights and sounds of Bourbon Street no longer assaulted her. And assault was the absolute right word. She’d felt like the sounds of loud music, shouting people, and raucous laughter were attacking her ears. Her eyes ached and watered from the harsh flashing lights and the smells . . . In some ways, that one was the hardest for her to deal with. The foul scents of sweat and stale liquor. The rancid scent of old vomit and urine. And the harsh chemical overlay of the bleach they used every morning to wash down the street. But the smell that battered her, distracted her, filled her with a raging desire she had to use every bit of her willpower to control. She didn’t even fully understand what the sweet, luring scent called her to do, she just knew with every fiber of her being she wanted to do it. And it scared her. But then Cort pulled her to his side, his arm strong, reassuring, and suddenly she felt better. Not perfect. Not normal. But she wouldn’t have believed anything could have distracted her from the wild party that surrounded them. She was wrong.

Cort’s nearness, his scent, the friction of his hand on her arm and strength of his body close beside her, all of him, seemed to center her and shield her from everything else.

Oh, she was still filled with longing. But the kind of longing she understood. His hand moved on her arm, skin stroking over skin and she ached to be in his arms, without the barrier of clothing, his body rubbing completely against hers. Another part of him deep inside her.

She wasn’t sure if she could blush. But she suspected she could, because her cheeks burned. Of course the rest of her burned, too.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice husky and rich. “Just focus on me.”