Prologue: Not a Vampire. Not a Werewolf. Not a Zombie. What am I?
I'm dreaming. I mean, like, I realize I'm dreaming. I think it's called lucid dreaming or something.
I'm just upset I can't wake up. It's really frustrating me. I've been sitting—I think—going around and around in my head about how I'm dreaming but I can't wake up. I've tried pinching myself, screaming at myself, and even rubbing one out. So far, though, nothing's worked.
What's worse is that I can't remember how I got here. Uh, wherever
here
is.
I remember getting an awesome facial and massage, talking to Samantha and having one of those self-actualization moments that have been popping up with the frequency of groundhogs in February. Is that a saying? Hell, I'm making it one. I remember walking out, meeting Bane, and...and...nothing. Blank space.
Well, almost. Falling. A feeling of weightlessness. That's my last memory before I got plopped here.
I'm a little worried about Bane. My husband tends to freak out when stuff like this happens and, sadly, it happens pretty often. My life's just one supernatural disaster after another.
Maybe "disaster" isn't the right word. It's sort of like my friend's sister's graduation. There we were, sitting on the hot bleachers with way too much makeup on for the North Carolina heat. Of course, when Kate's sister got on stage, we all cheered and stomped our feet like mad. It was great. Then we had to wait for the rest of the kids to get their certificates and leave. I was bored out of my mind until Vernon Elliott got on stage. I didn't know the kid personally, but after what he did, everyone knew his name. Good ole' Vernon got on stage, took his certificate, and stripped down. For about five seconds the kid just stood there, all his pasty white skin on display with only the smallest, most miniscule man-thong covering his giblets.
That's what my life felt like. A steady, mindless progression to some event and then bam! A sudden curveball the size of Vernon Elliott. No one expected it, but there it was. For me, that first curveball had been dying, but that was by far the least exciting of them all. My Vernon Elliott moment came in the shape of a decapitated vamp who did not shrivel up or turn into dust.
Worse than dying, more intense than being married to a vampire king, and more gross than eating some blue ball out of a dead guy, was seeing the dude who had kidnapped me—and was just an all-around jerk—in a pool of sticky, wet, never-coming-ou-tof-this-outfit blood. No amount of
Silence of the Lambs
,
Criminal Minds
, or
Law and Order
prepared me for the shock.
Wait. What's my point? Damn, I forgot.
Argh, this stupid lucid dreaming crap is going to drive me crazy. I wish I could just wake up. Wake up and find that nothing changed. Finally accept that my life is going to be a chaotic jumble of Vernon Elliott moments, but that didn't change me as a person.
So I don't know what I am. So my husband is a vampire who hangs out with witches and werewolves. So I'm a vampire queen with none of the stereotypical queen duties. None of that has really changed me. And when I wake up, I will be the same person I've always been: Georgia Kent. Peaches, now that I'm dead.
I just need to wake up. I need to—
I wasn't sure what it was, but before I was dreaming and the next second my eyes were open. "About time," I muttered as I blinked the blurriness away. The room I was in looked weird, like there was a veil over it. Had I slept with a scarf over my face? It was a wonder I didn't suffocate.
I moaned as I tried to move on the bed. My back hurt like a bitch and I was starving. I didn't look down at my arm because a part of me worried that my fur/fuzz was back. Ugh, that would totally suck. I'd been fine with wearing long sleeves and jeans on top of a mountain when I'd been chilling with Alpha Lorenzo's pack, but in Cairo? Hell no! I'd just have to start telling people that I had some kind of disease or my razor broke.
"Bane?" My husband was always nearby, my knight in shining armor—though that might be stretching it. I loved Bane, but the dude could be kind of a possessive asshole sometimes.
"
I heard that."
Ah, there he was, in my head like always. It used to really irk me that my husband could read my thoughts and get in my head but I'd gotten used to it. I'd gotten used to a lot of things.
I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus. I really needed to get this scarf off of me. I reached up, ready to rip the thing off, but my hand hit something. I tried to lean up, but my forehead bounced off a wall of some sort. Uh, ow!
"Damn," I groaned and to reach up to rub my head, but I couldn't even do that much.
I tried to focus, but the room was blurry. I turned my head and noticed that it wasn't a scarf at all. Shit, I didn't know what it was.
I started to freak out.
I don't know why I even bothered. I knew exactly what this was: another Vernon Elliott moment. I wondered how bad this one would be. With the way I was going, it would be the worst yet.
"Okay, okay, calm down." I tried to reach out to Bane, but I was still too panicked. Figured. I wondered why he wasn't just helping me. Was he far away? I tried to reach out for Samantha, Luther, or Casper, but couldn't get through. Had I even heard Bane or had that just been my imagination? Wow, this calming down thing really wasn't working.
I closed my eyes. Think. Think. Think. It was just like when I'd first woken up in that morgue and thought I was dead. I'd had to eliminate possibilities. That had pretty much been my life for the last two weeks. I'd thought I was a vampire. I wasn't. I'd thought I was a werewolf. I wasn't. I'd thought I was a zombie. Yup, you guessed it: I wasn't.
So, it was just another elimination game. What slept and then woke up with a scarf-like thing on it? Hmm... a mummy? I was a mummy Peach. Yeah, no.
I lifted up my hands again and started to claw at the material around me. It felt soft but hard, like papier-mâché. It gave under my fingers and I felt air rush over my fingertips. I kept pushing, clawing. More noises hit me, indistinct sounds became words, and certain scents suddenly crystallized into pictures in my mind. I smelled oil, spicy and strong, something from the Middle East.
Bane.
I got another scent, something I could only describe as expensive. That was definitely Casper. I heard their voices, too, but I was still freaking out a little too much. My fingers were at my chest, tugging and pulling the stuff around me away.
Hmm, something smelled delicious. Better than chocolate and fresh fruit. It smelled how I thought Bane and I smelled after we had intense, explosive sex—like the second after I came and he came and the world exploded around us and everything was destroyed, and then when I opened my eyes it was remade.
I moaned, desperate to get to the source. I closed my eyes as my hands reached my face and tore off the rest of the material. I stretched, wiggled as Bane's voice washed over me, hushed with a touch of incredulity. "Peaches?"
I opened my eyes. It was bright,
too
bright. There were more colors in our bedroom than there were names for them, and I could hear everyone's voice more clearly—the pitch and tenor, the hesitation. I wondered if it was like this for newbie vamps. Actually, this was what I expected when I woke up in that morgue. That hadn't been what I'd gotten, but now...