Real Vampires Have Curves

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Authors: Gerry Bartlett
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working for me. And he was an old vampire. He reeked of power behind his careless attitude.
    When we pulled up in front of Freddy’s, the front door flew open.
    â€œGlory! Come inside. You, too, Damian.” Freddy was paler than usual and his hair was on end.
    â€œWhat is it?” We both hurried up the walk. Derek, CiCi and Freddy were gathered around Flo who sat slumped on the couch, sobbing like her heart was breaking and babbling in Italian. Valdez stood guard by the door.
    Damian knelt in front of Flo and spoke to her in soothing tones in her native language. “Dios mio!” He pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her.
    Freddy pulled me aside. “He’ll calm her down. They’ve known each other forever.”
    â€œBut what happened?”
    Flo turned and looked at me, her cheeks wet with tears. “Trevor. I found him. He’s morto. Dead.”
    â€œMy God!” I sank onto the nearest chair, my knees weak. “What happened?” Trevor. I hadn’t exactly fallen in love with the vampire, but he’d seemed harmless enough.
    â€œMy fault. I should have felt the hate. Warned him.” Flo shuddered and pressed her face against Damian’s chest. She wailed something in Italian.
    â€œWhat did she say? Was it Westwood?” I couldn’t breathe. Vampire hunters. Here in Austin.
    Damian patted Flo’s back and swallowed. “Westwood? Not unless he stakes with a wooden cross.”
    "I smell cat. If that Sheba followed me here ...” Valdez’s nose twitched and his tail quivered on point.
    â€œWill you quit obsessing about Sheba? CiCi wouldn’t let her follow you.” Poor Valdez. He’d been beyond patient, but Sheba had stuck to him like a burr the whole time we’d been at CiCi’s. It was as if the cat had sensed the one entity that didn’t want her and decided to torment him. Or was it love?
    â€œLove? Gag me. I’m just making sure you’re not in danger.”
    â€œThis building allows pets. Someone’s sure to have a cat. Get over it. A cat isn’t a danger to me. ”
    â€œI ain’t afraid of no cat.” Valdez plopped on the loveseat Freddy and Derek had just dragged in from the U-Haul.
    â€œMaybe you should be.” Derek grinned and nodded to the closed door across the hall. “Werecat. Good looking red-head during the day, but by night . . . hello, kitty.”
    Shape-shifters. Why was I not surprised? But I was cool with it, just happy to be moving. After Trevor’s death, I’d had three choices. Hustle my butt to Blade. Too wimpy. Barricade myself in Freddy’s house with his mother. Way too wimpy. Or carry on with my plan while staying alert. I picked door number three. No way was I letting some vamp-hungry religious nut dictate my moves.
    And who should come riding to my rescue but Damian. Who happened to own a building in the trendy warehouse district. With, surprise, surprise, an empty shop on the ground floor and apartments on the top three. With excellent security, of course.
    Was this all just a little too convenient? If Blade had his hand in this, I’d kill, well, at least try to kill him. But you know what they say about gift horses. So I’m moving into 2C.
    Freddy and Derek couldn’t wait to introduce me to my new neighbor. I’ve run across shape-shifters before. There’d been one werewolf who’d been a hunk in human form and more than tempting. But he kept pressuring me to shape-shift too. No, thank you, Wolfman. We’d parted ways. Talk about your ugly breakups.
    â€œIt’s three frickin’ thirty in the morning, guys. Is this building on fire?” A tall woman with red hair that would’ve made Clairol weep with envy stood between Freddy and Derek, poking them both in the chest with what looked to be lethal peach-frost fingernails. She wore a faded orange University of Texas T-shirt and plaid boxers. Her legs were a mile long

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