“And you scaring the shit out of me isn’t?” I snapped.
My mate was eyeing the exit. That was not working for me. I didn’t want to be left alone with the crazy lady. However, she was my grandmother—not his.
“Darling, Vampyres don’t use the facilities—no interior plumbing. I don’t see what the biggie is,” she replied with a perplexed shake of her fiery red curls.
Mother Nature’s beauty was unparalleled. She knew it and enjoyed it immensely. Her eyes were the clearest blue I’d ever seen and her skin glowed—pale smooth porcelain. This evening she wore yards and yards of sparkling lavender tulle with a blue flowered trim that matched her eyes perfectly. Sapphires covered every conceivable place a jewel could fit. She was a gaudy, gorgeous masterpiece.
“True,” I muttered as I prayed for control. “So why exactly did you think I needed a hide-the-salami bucket?”
“Everyone needs a Boink Basket to keep the home fires burning,” she explained.
“Holy Hell,” Ethan grumbled. “The day just got worse.”
“I heard that young man,” Gigi hissed. She turned on him with narrowed eyes and hands on her hips.
Ethan just grinned and winked disrespectfully. My grandma ate it up and giggled like a school girl. His pretty face and fine ass kept him out of worlds of trouble.
Young was pushing it. My sexy Vamp was over five hundred years old, but I suppose age was relative when dealing with a nutty woman who’d been around since the beginning of time.
The smirk Ethan shot my way almost made me ask Gigi how to use the damn thing, but I wasn’t that much of a masochist.
“Wait,” I shouted.
Everyone froze.
“Did you know Nancy Regan was a Vampyre,” I asked my grandmother.
“Of course, dear,” she replied as if I’d just asked a ridiculous question. “You’d be surprised how many of you are out there.”
That was certainly something unsettling to chew on…
“Anyhoo, back to business. Astrid, you sit in it and Ethan will lie underneath—naked. Of course you need to twist the rubber band so you spin like a top. The result is positively orgasmic and mind blowing. However, I’d suggest Brazilians for both of you before attempting it. Trust me on that. Your grandfather, Bill, had a few painful issues after our first ride in one,” Gigi explained gleefully.
Clearly, no need to ask for directions.
“Sweet Hell on Earth,” a considerably paler Ethan said tightly, as he made his way out of my closet. “I’ll just check on Samuel.”
“He’s fine,” Gigi assured us. “He’s playing with his new baboon.”
“What?” I shouted. Sparks flew from my fingertips and burned a hole in the gorgeous red Stella McCartney sheath I’d been planning to wear Christmas Day.
Both Ethan and Mother Nature dove for cover. I silently stared at the smoldering tragedy. I was certain my lack of vitriolic swearing was what made them burrow even deeper into my sweater collection. Nonverbal communication wasn’t really in my repertoire and I was actually scaring myself. It had taken me a month of transporting between Paris and Milan before I’d found the perfect dress—and now it was toast… or toasted to be more accurate.
“I think I can fix it.” Mother Nature’s muffled whisper came from somewhere hidden beneath my shoe shelf.
“You sew?” I inquired tersely.
“Not exactly, but I’m good with a glue gun and sequins,” she offered.
For a moment I considered finding a paper bag and breathing into it to avoid the panic attack that was impending and then I remembered I didn’t breath—fucking awesome.
“You know what?” I said through clenched teeth. “It’s just a dress. I have other dresses. I’ll wear something else. We need to go save my son from the baboon. Now.”
“He’s harmless. I made sure of that,” Mother Nature promised. “The baboon I brought for Samuel wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I swallowed the 734,658,746 word long stream of nearly endless profanity I wanted to utter and stayed calm.
However, my adult behavior was clearly taking its toll as my power crackled and hissed around me. And that’s when I realized my control had slipped anyway because I’d set the entire closet on fire.
“Run,” Mother Nature screamed as she doused the fire with magic. The water blasted down from the ceiling in the form of a monsoon, destroying everything the flames might have missed.
“Fuckshitsonofabitchbuttholes,” I screamed as I watched every piece of clothing I owned get drowned beyond repair.
Running around my closet like a loon, I tried hunching over some of my favorites to save them, but it was too late.
“Oh my Heavens and Hell,” Gigi wailed. She halted the rainstorm then grabbed a Dolce and Gabanna ball gown and attempted to squeeze the water out of it. “I’m so sorry, Astrid. I shall take you on a shopping spree this very moment. We can go to New York, or Europe—wherever you want. I have ins with everyone… and just think, you can have all next year’s styles before they come out.”
That gave me pause… because as much as I’d grown as a person, I was still a materialistic Prada whore. My grandma knew me well.
“Really?” I asked in a small voice.
“Yes, absolutely,” Gigi promised fervently, wringing her hands. “Whatever you want. I feel horrible that I caused this. It’s the very least I can do for my favorite granddaughter—well you’re tied with Dixie for that honor—but whatever. The rest of them can rot in Hell.”