"Pressure much?" I snapped. "What's with all the doomed junk? You're making it sound like the world could end."
Both men just stared at me and said nothing. My stomach dropped to my toes and I wanted to puke. A small part of my brain explained to me that Vampyres couldn't hurl, but I was still not ready to accept that I was an undead creature of the night…not to mention a flesh-eating Demon. Poopitycrap. Could my life get any more screwed up?
Yes. The answer was yes.
"She can be told part of her history. It might jog her memory, but nothing of the present—including who we are to her. She must find that herself," The Kev stated and then left the room again.
Ethan pinched the bridge of his perfect nose and sat down in a chair across the room from me. I wanted to beg him to sit next to me, but I figured my husband might not like that. I was kind of quite sure that I was married to a human man. Why would I have done that if I was a Demon /Vampyre? Maybe because humans had yummy blood? Gross. What was wrong with me? I did not drink blood and I was not a Demon/Vampyre.
"Alright, Pretty Boy, spit it out."
"You're going to find most of it very hard to swallow," he said with a raised eyebrow that was so sexy I shut my eyes again.
"Harder than your fangs and The Kev's wings?"
"Much."
"Awesome." I grinned and moaned. "Tell me my story."
"You asked for it, Astrid," he said as he sat forward and steepled his long fingers beneath his chin.
"You are correct, Ethan. I did. Now talk."
***
An hour later I was speechless. This felt alien to me, but I had no words. I was back to thinking I was on heavy drugs, completely drunk or caught in a massive nightmare that felt like real life. I pressed on my temples to ward off what felt like a migraine coming on.
"Have you been smoking crack?" I asked Ethan weakly. "Because it sounded more like a drug trip instead of background info."
"No—no crack." His smile was grim and his body was tense.
"Let me get this straight. Satan and God are brothers, and also my uncles. Mother Nature who likes to pole dance, can't cook, and has a deadly temper is my grandmother. I am something called a True Immortal which means I can only be killed with the Sword of Death, but I don't have to worry about it because it's being guarded by Mr. Rogers. The same Mr. Rogers I watched on TV as a child. The one who changed into his tennis shoes and cardigan and sang about being my freakin' neighbor."
I knew my voice was getting thin and shrill, but this was simply too much.
"And now you're telling me he plays poker in Hell with Satan and Hemingway and most of them cheat?" I yelled.
"Um…yes."
I got up and began pacing the room. Immediately I felt calmer. Movement—movement let me think more clearly. "My cousins are the Seven Deadly Sins and my job in this world is Compassion? This is very hard to believe—very hard."
"I suppose it does sound a little odd," Ethan admitted generously.
"Odd?" I shouted. "You think that pile of bull poopy you just fed me sounds odd? I am supposed to believe I'm a Vampyre/ Demon with insane powers? I have immortal relatives who put the D in dysfunctional? I can pop bad guys? Literally pop them? That is freakin' gross. I am a pacifist…I think…but you're telling me I'm a cold-blooded killing machine. I'm having a teeny-weeny identity crisis at the moment. Yet the worst thing is, even though I know I'm married, I want to jump you so bad I can barely see straight. This is a problem. I am not a skank and I will not indulge in extramarital affairs, even if my hoohoo wants to."
"I think your husband would understand under the circumstances," Ethan said as he watched me like a predator watches prey.
"You have some nerve, Mr. No-Morals. Just because my va-jay-jay is on fire does not mean I will cheat on my husband, whoever he is. And why in the heck didn't he come with me—or is he too wimpy to go on a deadly mission?"
Ethan refused to comment, which made me think my husband was a wimp. None of this was making any sense, but in a totally farked up way, it was making a sorry butt load of sense. I needed to push my all-consuming attraction for the Vampyre to the far recesses of my horny brain and get some more information.
"Was I ever human? Not that I'm buying all this malarkey yet, but I'm curious," I said slowly.
"Yes," he answered with a hopeful look in his eyes.
"How old am I?"
"You're thirty."
"How old are you?"
He paused and grimaced. "I'm five hundred and twenty-two."
Well, that was just ridiculous. I was attracted to a dude who was alive during the Civil War? "Look Ethan, I am beginning to believe some of this, but you have to agree it's a lot to take in."
He nodded and stayed silent.
"Where are my fangs?" I asked as I poked around in my mouth.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"I don't know," I lied as my stomach rumbled loudly.
"Come here." His voice was soft and commanding. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself at him and sink my teeth into the smooth sexy skin of his neck. Not happening.
"No," I whispered. "I can't."
"Why not?" His eyes had gone green again and his fangs had dropped, sending my lady parts into a tailspin.
"It's just a really bad idea," I choked out as I felt something sharp in my mouth. "Oh my God. I have fangs."