Chosen

CHAPTER 28

Lance is showering. I’m pacing. For once, I was hoping Lance would say he had to go home tonight, to the beach house. It didn’t happen. I should have known it wouldn’t. He’s still in protective mode.

We had a nice day. Took a walk on the boardwalk, had beers in a neighborhood bar. Watched a Padres game on the big screen. Did things that human couples do.

I might have enjoyed it more if I didn’t have this appointment with Underwood looming. And if I didn’t have to guard every thought that went through my head. Lance knows that my job entails midnight runs—he’s just made it clear he intends to make this one with us.

How am I going to get out of this?

Lance comes downstairs wearing one of my robes. It’s a big pink chenille job, and I laugh in spite of the heaviness I feel in my heart. “You look better in that thing than I do.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I found it in the back of your closet. Did you really used to wear this thing?”

“I didn’t have you around when I was human. I got cold in the winter.”

He fingers the heavy material. “No wonder so many mortal women have dreary sex lives. This is about as appealing as a flannel nightgown.”

“Good thing you didn’t check the dresser. There are a few of those in there, too.” I hook a finger in the belt and give a tug. “Besides, wearing it isn’t the sexy part. Taking it off, that’s the sexy part.”

He bends his face close to mine. “We’ll test that theory. Right after I fix us a drink.”

He lets his lips brush mine, a tease, and steps away to head for the kitchen. “Hold that thought.”

I start pacing again as soon as he’s out of sight.

What am I going to do? I don’t even have a sleeping pill in the house to drug him. Not that one pill would do it. Vampires have strong constitutions. It would take a half bottle to affect him. Nor can I bring myself to use physical force. I could knock him out but that would be painful. A headache is a headache no matter the species.

And when he came to, what then? He’d have every right to be furious with me. Caring for me has not exactly been easy. What if he wanted to stop seeing me? I’m not ready for that. I like having him around. I like the way he makes me feel. I like the way we fit.

Shit. The only thing I’m sure of is I can’t tell him the truth. I won’t risk his insisting on coming with me. Underwood has already shown how little regard he has for Lance. I won’t risk another attempt on his life.

Lance is back with two glasses, an ice bucket, a plate of limes and an open bottle of tequila. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“Funny expression for a vamp to use,” I retort.

He fills the glasses with ice and booze and hands me one. “Not really. Not tonight.” His expression is serious, his eyes veiled, a reflection of the barrier he’s erected around his own thoughts. “You’ve spent most of the day locking me out of your head. Do you want to tell me why?”

He raises his glass and we touch rims and drink. His gaze never wavers from my face.

I’m the one who looks away first. I do it by pretending to spill some of my drink, by wiping at my mouth with a hand. “Jesus. I’m so clumsy. I’ll get a napkin.”

He takes my glass and I feel him watching as I leave for the kitchen.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

I stall as long as I can before rejoining Lance in the living room. He’s taken a seat on the couch and refilled my glass. I still have no idea how I’m going to get away in—a surreptitious glance at my watch—an hour and a half.

Lance’s mood has lightened. He smiles as he gives me back my glass. “I have an idea,” he says. “Let’s drink tonight. A lot. Let’s forget the last few days and get roaring drunk. Drink until we pass out.”

Now that’s a plan I hadn’t thought of. No drugs. No brute force. He’s picked his own poison. All I have to do is pretend to drink as much as he does. Then distract him while I dispose of the liquor. There are enough plants around us here in the living room to take care of that.

Potted plants. Many soon-to-be very potted plants.

I grin at my own little joke.

“I like it.” I tilt my head back and drain my glass. “Your turn.”

Lance has already refilled our glasses. I put mine to my lips and take a long pull. I know how much liquor I can hold. I figure another glass or two, and then I’ll stop drinking.

I don’t know how Underwood plans to contact me at midnight but if Lance continues to drink at this rate, he should be too hammered to realize I’m gone. He’s already started on a third drink.

I’ve been sitting close to him on the couch. He bends toward me to refill my glass and I peek into the gaping robe. “You have such great pecs.”

It’s what I’m thinking. In my head. What I hear coming out of my mouth is different. Slurred. My lips feel swollen and my tongue heavy. I look up into Lance’s face and the room starts to spin. The glass falls from my hand.

“What the—?”

Lance takes me by the shoulders. He stands up so he can lower my body until I’m lying full length on the couch. He strokes my cheek.

“I’m sorry, Anna.”

It’s the last thing I hear before the darkness rises to swallow me up.