Read Online Semi-Human (Harper Hall Investigations Book 2) by Isabel Jordan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Isabel Jordan
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scared.”
“You want to talk about Riddick’s feelings?” She leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. “When did you turn into such a girl, Nancy?”
He let his head fall back against the wall. “And you’re using humor to hide the fact that you’re scared, too.”
“Of course I’m scared, you asshole. You shot me up with poison!”
Romeo studied her through slitted lids. “That’s the sick part. That’s not what you’re really afraid of. Because deep down, you don’t really think you’re dying. You know you’ll find a way out of this because you always do. You’re charmed.”
She snorted. Yeah. Sitting in a hotel bathroom with Romeo Jones, poison pumping through her veins, while her fiancé stalked the streets of Las Vegas like some kind of blood-hungry, vigilante psychopath.
Charmed, my ass.
“So, tell me, Dr. Phil,” she began, sarcasm dripping from her tongue like venom. “If I’m not scared of dying, what am I so scared of?”
“Losing Riddick.”
She kicked him in the shin, although it was a halfhearted effort at best. The day was really starting to weigh on her. “Of course I’m scared of losing Riddick! You’re asking him to take on your debt to the supernatural mafia! He could get killed trying to save your sorry ass.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re not scared of him dying in the Arena because you know how good he is. He’s going to win and you know it. You’re scared of losing him. Of him turning back into what he was before he met you. Of him becoming what he’s always trying so hard to keep inside.”
She blinked. Jesus, that was insightful. Scarily accurate. Not that she’d ever tell him that. “You really have turned into a girl, haven’t you? They make you check your balls at the door when you signed into rehab?”
He sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Make jokes. Live in denial. But we really do need to talk about the Vrykolakas. We both know Riddick will fight, and if he walks in there by himself like the idiot he looks like, they’ll kill him.”
Her head pounded at the mere thought of trying to formulate a plan tonight. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
And what fun that would be.
She suppressed a sigh. Who knew that eloping to Vegas would be even more dramatic than one of her family’s traditional weddings?
Mischa set her Kindle down and glanced at the display on her ringing iPhone. She sighed. She supposed The Princess Bride would have to wait. Which was a total shame, because there were few things she loved more than a hero dressed as a pirate. But, Harper was definitely one of those things. Damn it.
“If you’re just calling to gloat that you’re now married to a hot guy while I’m sitting at home, reading, I’m going to hang up and get back to Buttercup and Wesley,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“You’re reading it again?” Harper asked, incredulous. “Swear to God, you’ve read it a hundred times.”
“Only about eighty,” she said, somewhat defensively. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess, if there’s nothing on TV. Or, if you don’t have a date, which, you totally could if you weren’t so stubborn.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. If you call me a big disappointment—in Italian—because I haven’t given you any grandchildren, you’ll sound just like my mother.”
Harper adopted a heavy, New York-Italian accent and lowered her voice to a throaty, raspy, smoker’s growl before saying, “You aren’t getting any younger, doll. Time to shit or get off the pot.”
If she wasn’t sitting alone in the room, she’d swear her mother had just walked in. Mischa shuddered. “I’ve asked you repeatedly not to do that. It’s eerie. How the hell do you do that so well?”
“I started practicing after the first time I met your mom. I love that accent. Its part Linda Richman, part Sophia Loren.”
“Why are you calling me, weirdo?”
“I need your
“You want to talk about Riddick’s feelings?” She leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. “When did you turn into such a girl, Nancy?”
He let his head fall back against the wall. “And you’re using humor to hide the fact that you’re scared, too.”
“Of course I’m scared, you asshole. You shot me up with poison!”
Romeo studied her through slitted lids. “That’s the sick part. That’s not what you’re really afraid of. Because deep down, you don’t really think you’re dying. You know you’ll find a way out of this because you always do. You’re charmed.”
She snorted. Yeah. Sitting in a hotel bathroom with Romeo Jones, poison pumping through her veins, while her fiancé stalked the streets of Las Vegas like some kind of blood-hungry, vigilante psychopath.
Charmed, my ass.
“So, tell me, Dr. Phil,” she began, sarcasm dripping from her tongue like venom. “If I’m not scared of dying, what am I so scared of?”
“Losing Riddick.”
She kicked him in the shin, although it was a halfhearted effort at best. The day was really starting to weigh on her. “Of course I’m scared of losing Riddick! You’re asking him to take on your debt to the supernatural mafia! He could get killed trying to save your sorry ass.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re not scared of him dying in the Arena because you know how good he is. He’s going to win and you know it. You’re scared of losing him. Of him turning back into what he was before he met you. Of him becoming what he’s always trying so hard to keep inside.”
She blinked. Jesus, that was insightful. Scarily accurate. Not that she’d ever tell him that. “You really have turned into a girl, haven’t you? They make you check your balls at the door when you signed into rehab?”
He sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Make jokes. Live in denial. But we really do need to talk about the Vrykolakas. We both know Riddick will fight, and if he walks in there by himself like the idiot he looks like, they’ll kill him.”
Her head pounded at the mere thought of trying to formulate a plan tonight. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
And what fun that would be.
She suppressed a sigh. Who knew that eloping to Vegas would be even more dramatic than one of her family’s traditional weddings?
Mischa set her Kindle down and glanced at the display on her ringing iPhone. She sighed. She supposed The Princess Bride would have to wait. Which was a total shame, because there were few things she loved more than a hero dressed as a pirate. But, Harper was definitely one of those things. Damn it.
“If you’re just calling to gloat that you’re now married to a hot guy while I’m sitting at home, reading, I’m going to hang up and get back to Buttercup and Wesley,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“You’re reading it again?” Harper asked, incredulous. “Swear to God, you’ve read it a hundred times.”
“Only about eighty,” she said, somewhat defensively. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess, if there’s nothing on TV. Or, if you don’t have a date, which, you totally could if you weren’t so stubborn.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. If you call me a big disappointment—in Italian—because I haven’t given you any grandchildren, you’ll sound just like my mother.”
Harper adopted a heavy, New York-Italian accent and lowered her voice to a throaty, raspy, smoker’s growl before saying, “You aren’t getting any younger, doll. Time to shit or get off the pot.”
If she wasn’t sitting alone in the room, she’d swear her mother had just walked in. Mischa shuddered. “I’ve asked you repeatedly not to do that. It’s eerie. How the hell do you do that so well?”
“I started practicing after the first time I met your mom. I love that accent. Its part Linda Richman, part Sophia Loren.”
“Why are you calling me, weirdo?”
“I need your
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