Page 37 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

If only the rest of his life could have a fresh start.

He was not a demon anymore; he was convinced of that, which should give him hope. The proof, if he needed it, was that he was unable to teletransport or morph into demonoid form. The only thing about him that was the same was his fangs. Which should have been promising, a sign he was on his way to becoming a vangel, but, no, he didn’t have angel bumps on his shoulder blades, the precursors to wings; so, he wasn’t a vangel, either.

In truth, he didn’t know what he was, and maybe he didn’t want to know. It scared him to think that his lack of demon attributes might only be temporary, due to his injuries. He was certainly beginning to have unangelic feelings when he sucked Regina’s sweetly erotic blood, despite his penis’s inability to follow the lead. And thank the stars for that small blessing. If he got an erection, he’d probably pop a few stitches. Ouch!

While his body was far from healed, his mind was clear and he knew that time was their enemy. They had to get away from the island, to a safer place, hopefully in five different directions, or at least four, if he could convince his comrades-in-comedy to part ways with him and Regina, assuming she would take him with her to safety. That had been her original plan, after all. But no, the three demon witch vampires were hanging on to him and Regina like leeches. Which was unkind of him, considering their role in his escape. See. I’m far from a vangel if I can be so mean-spirited. Right? It was a sign of his unravelling brain that he carried on conversations like this with himself.

By now, more than four days in, Jasper would have all of Satan’s powers at his disposal, and the shielding here would be frailer than tissue paper, no match for high-powered Lucipires. And he didn’t need Regina to keep harping at him on the subject, either, as she surely would, he thought, as she came stomping out through the sliding glass doors.

“Well, have you thought of anything yet?”

“You mean, since you asked me fifteen minutes ago?”

“No need to be snide.”

“Sorry.” He had to keep reminding himself that he had much to thank her for.

They’d been sniping at each other ever since he’d been able to get up out of bed. From her side, he suspected it was because she resented getting turned on by their blood exchanges. From his side, he just wanted to be out of here, alone, without any help or any sidekicks. Besides, he was getting turned on, too. Except he didn’t resent it. And he really couldn’t do anything about it, without an erection; so, it didn’t really count as a sexual transgression, in his clueless male rulebook.

“I’m not accustomed to making decisions for anyone other than myself,” Zeb told her. “If we leave here, we’ve got to scatter, unless . . .” He gave her a questioning look.

“No way! I’m in enough trouble as it is, if I try to get you into the castle at Transylvania. You and three witch Lucipires would push Vikar over the edge.”

“You’re a witch, too,” he reminded her.

“I know that.” She glared at him. “What’s your point?”

“No point.” He shrugged. Then sniffed the air.

“Stop that damn sniffing.”

“I can’t help it. You smell so cinnamon sweet and spicy.” Makes me want to gobble her up. Or something. And, yes, I am wondering how a certain place on her body, her sweet spot, would taste. Would probably numb my tongue. He didn’t say that, though. He might be a dumb man and a dumber demon, but even he knew not to ask a witch if he could eat her. Not under the circumstances. Okay, not ever.

Instead, he turned the tables by blaming her and said, “Do you have to keep tempting me with sexy attire?” It had become a running joke between them . . . who was he kidding? . . . from his end only . . . that she was tempting him to sin with all her bloodletting. Little did she know, it was the truth. Blood fanging, cinnamon high, rescuer worship, red hair, sexual healing . . . he was on fire for her, and not in a fever sort of way. More like an I-want-you-so-much-my-broken-bones-ache-to-have-you kind of fever. But an I-can’t-get-it-up way, too. My poor penis must be so confused!

Last night he’d told her, in a semi-serious tone of voice, as he prepared to fang her neck, “My train is definitely coming back to life. Good thing my engine is in sleep mode.”

And she’d quick as spit replied, “I could always rewrap your engine in barbed wire.”

No sense of humor.

Now, in response to his remark about her attire, she glanced down at his biking shorts that she wore (yes, he’d tried biking once years ago, but he kept morphing into demonoid form and his tail got caught in the spokes) covered by an oversized (for her, not him) Aerosmith T-shirt (gotta love “Walk This Way!”) that completely hid her generous curves (but he had a good imagination).

“Give me a break,” she said and sat down on the foot of a matching chaise lounge, facing him. Her red hair was pulled off her face and piled high on her head with a rubber band, thus leaving her neck exposed, where he could see the faint scars of his last fanging.

He felt an ominous lurch down below. Holy shit! That’s all he would need. To get his mojo back in the midst of all his other troubles. Well, not really mojo, that would imply sexual appeal. More like sexual hunger.

I am in such trouble, he thought.

And he could swear he heard a voice in his head say, You have no idea.

“What did you say?” he asked her.

“Nothing.”

“There is one thing that might work,” he told her. “If Beau were to open the shield for a moment, long enough for you and me to slip through, and then close it right away, we could teletransport to the vangel headquarters, assuming you still have the ability to teletransport. I don’t.” Or I would have been out of here by now. “Once we figure out the lay of the land, so to speak . . . how Vikar and Michael are going to react to me, rather us, assuming we will be forgiven . . . we could come back for Beau, Patience, and Grimelda, assuming Michael would permit that.”

“You have a whole lot of assumptions in there, buddy. Yes, I believe Beau has the skill to open and close the shield. He’s lots smarter than he pretends to be,” she said.