The Real Werewives of Vampire County

“No, I suppose not.”

Alexis tossed her towel down on the counter before levering herself up to sit on it, reaching for her drink again. “If we tell her that we’ll still be her friends, but gradually work our way out of her life and not invite her to all of the parties, maybe she won’t take it quite so hard. We’ll be safe, she’ll be screwed, and we can all get on with our lives.”

Cassandra laughed, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “If she accepts it as easy as that, I’d be very surprised. I suppose we can give it a shot. Maybe after enough time passes, Gabriel will change his mind. For now, I’m sure Heather can keep her entertained when we’re not around.”

Heather walked in, now dressed in jeans and a Gucci T-shirt, rubbing the towel through her hair. “Doubtful. I don’t like it.”

“We didn’t expect you would,” Alexis said, pushing a third drink down the smooth countertop. Heather caught it easily and took a deep pull. “But I’m sure you’ll agree it’s all for the best.”

Heather downed half the drink in a go, earning raised brows and concerned looks from the other two ladies. She set the glass down with a clack, nearly breaking it.

“No, I don’t like it. But it’ll have to do.”

The two nodded and smiled, glad to hear she agreed. Until she added a quiet “for now” under her breath.

CHAPTER 11

Live by the gun, die by the gun.

—Tupac Shakur

“I have something you should see.” Cassandra harrumphed as she dug through her closet, looking for a pair of shoes to wear, her cell phone tucked to her ear. “Vera, I know you just want to help, but you need to lay off. We’re handling this.”

“I have proof this time.”

Cassandra paused, one foot halfway into her Bottega Veneta platform wedge sandals. She was already irritated at Vera for tricking her into picking up by calling from an unfamiliar number—her husband’s office line—after calls from her cell went unanswered. Vera was quick to fill the silence, the urgency in her tone not feigned in the least.

“She’s one of them, Cassie. Be careful.”

“We’re all meeting at Heather’s house in two hours. Bring whatever you found.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Vera—”

“Don’t say it. I know. I’ll behave myself.”

Cassandra’s tone was icy, commanding, and brooked no refusal. “See that you do. Another slip like the one you made at dinner, and I’ll personally see to it that there’s nothing left when the police come to pick you up for harming a human outside of a contract.”

Vera was met with the click of a dial tone before she could reply.

Though a trifle peeved at being hung up on, Vera tossed the cordless phone she’d borrowed from her husband’s office onto the bed and gathered the printouts of articles she’d found on the Internet. She was rather proud of the glossy quality her husband’s printer had spit out, showing Tiffany on the edge of a pack of scruffy-looking hunters with a gun in her hand and a White Hat pin prominently tacked to the lapel of what looked like a knockoff Ralph Lauren blazer.

So tacky.

Alexis slowly exhaled, her eyes closed, one hand palm up, the other down, resting them on her folded legs. The taste of incense was heavy on the air, and the soft instrumental music and burbling water from a nearby fountain assisted her to find her center.

Since it had been cut short, and tensions had been high the entire time, the tennis match hadn’t helped her to work off the excess supernatural energy of her second nature as it normally would have. With all of the stress from Vera and Tiffany’s sniping and fighting, she had felt it necessary to call in an emergency session with her private yoga instructor. It took some pleading and persuading, but he had eventually conceded, and cancelled one of his morning appointments for her.

The meditation wasn’t doing much to calm her. She was certain there must be something she was doing wrong—but she didn’t dare speak, knowing her yogi would instruct her if he determined she was not properly following the path of Ashtanga Yoga to serenity and enlightenment. Really, the only reason she was interested in continuing the lessons was because the instructor was one of those hard-bodied men who was Alpha enough to get her to obey his instructions without question, and because the meditation did, to some degree, help her calm herself and maintain greater control over her inner beast.

“Remember to breathe,” her yogi said, pressing his hand into her lower back to force her to correct her posture.

With a slight nod, she took in the scent of sandalwood and musk, taking it through her mouth instead of her nose despite the taste it left on her tongue. She didn’t want to destroy her sense of smell for the rest of the day.

If there was a hunt, she might need it later.

Heather rushed about her home, getting her maid to tidy the house before sending her on an errand so the woman wouldn’t become suspicious or overhear the conversation once the other werewives and Tiffany arrived. She made sure she had plenty of alcohol on hand—she thought they might need it once the news was given.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling Cassandra that she’d stopped at the courthouse that morning to file the signed and notarized papers Tiffany had forgotten and left behind at dinner last night.

Tiffany had everything she intended to bring with her to Heather’s house spread out on her bed.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Cassandra was reconsidering allowing her into the pack after all that Vera had said. The offer to meet again at Heather’s was what tipped her off. Neutral ground; a place she would hesitate to cause a scene, because the property belonged to a friend.

Tiffany had given careful thought to what she needed to bring with her, and felt that the netbook computer to play a video on, the photographs, and the piece of jewelry she’d stolen from Vera when the ladies left their clothing behind in the woods at Alexis’s party would serve her purposes admirably.

Though they had never said as much, the Diamondfangs had always worked under the radar of the press and the hunters, working through society’s elite. Its members would never want to be outed as real monsters lurking under the façades of ruthless businessmen and women—but now Tiffany knew who most of them were, and had the pictures and dossiers to prove their connections.

She would get what she wanted, or the werewives would be exposed to the world for the bitches they were.