Page 70 of Zombies, Satyrs and Vampires, Oh My!

“Scars,” she says through her teeth, since her jaw still can’t move.

“What?”

“Scars on back. Fire. Ugly.” Then her eyes squeeze closed.

I turn her and say nothing as I clean off the slime, revealing the angry scars slashed across her back. A fire, she said.

She’d mentioned having health problems and needing accommodations like the desk, and appreciating good health care. This is obviously why she’s been so demanding that she be more helpful and that I give her more to do. She wants to earn her job so she doesn’t lose it.

Now I feel like an ass and a bully. I’d been so worried about her seeing my fangs and being afraid, and she has legitimate concerns about her well-being.

“Does it hurt when I touch them?” I ask, my palm gliding over the raised skin and stretched, shiny parts.

“No. Just certain positions. Skin gets tight.”

“They’re not ugly,” I say. “No part of you is ugly.” Then I work in silence to get the rest of her clothes off, trying my best not to ogle her beautiful round body. I want to tell her how perfect she is, how desirable. But it’s not my place. I’m already crossing so many damn lines, putting my hands on her bare skin.

I couldn’t risk it though. I don’t know if that fucker’s slime would eat through her skin or what.

“I think I can move my mouth now,” she says, her words sounding more clear. “Can’t believe some lunatic brought weaponized slime to your con. Do you think that’s a new kind of roofie?”

“He’s been removed from the property.”

“Thank goodness. I guess you can’t scan people for that with metal detectors.”

“Not so much.” Her destroyed shirt and the rest of her discarded clothes lay in a wet pile on the tub floor. “I think I’ve got it all off you now. Can you move?”

“Barely. Hope it wears off soon.”

I grab one of my bath sheets, wrap it around her and lift her from the tub. She’s still stiff, but far more malleable than she was when we first came in here. I pull back my covers and lay her in my bed.

“Hudson,” Chester’s voice comes from just outside my bedroom.

“I gotta go talk to him. You just try to get some rest. I’m sure when you wake up, your movement will be back to normal.” I sure as fuck hope I’m not lying to her.

I close the door as I step outside, confused, conflicted, and aroused that she’s naked in my bed.

Chester waits until we’re back in the living room before he speaks. “I did some research, and the paralysis should be temporary. Now that you’ve gotten it all off of her, she should be back to normal in an hour or so.”

“I doubt she will ever be back to normal since I introduced this shit show into her life.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Don’t be an idiot. That girl in there is crazy about you. When it’s fate, it’s fate. Maybe learning about what you are will be an adjustment for her, but I suspect she’ll take it in stride. She’s got that kind of spirit about her.”

I agree, but I don’t tell my familiar that.

Ever had an embarrassment of riches? Just lucky things tend to fall in your lap? That seems to happen to me a lot. Aside from the whole getting turned into a vampire while looking like a chubby Mel Gibson from the first Lethal Weapon movie.

Foster kids—who are not infants—are not readily adopted by kindly older parents swimming in money. Yet, that was my experience.

A pang of guilt jabs at me. If Rosie had had my parents, she wouldn’t have been in that fire. She wouldn’t have had to go through those years of painful treatment and therapy.

It’s never made a damn bit of sense to me why good things happen to some people, but not others. Just the luck of the draw? Then I remember something Rosie wrote in her original thank you letter.

Luck shouldn’t be measured in good or bad. Initially, it’s just the way your life unfolds, the challenges and gifts you’re given. What truly matters is what you do with those things.

Do I wish I could erase all the pain she’s experienced? Yes. But then she wouldn’t be the amazing woman she is today. She formed herself out of the good and bad things that happened to her along the way. She doesn’t need my pity or my guilt.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I’ve felt a connection with her from that very first thank you note. Maybe even before that with her scholarship application.