“She’s a woman,” Dante said with a shrug. “Women always seem to understand this nonsense better than us poor men.”
“Women know women,” Tomasso added.
Shaking his head, Justin turned to continue on to the car, saying, “Come on. Let’s get back to Jackie and Vincent’s. I could use something to eat. Maybe ice cream.”
“Ice cream is good for drowning sorrows,” Dante said approvingly.
“Spoken like a woman,” Justin muttered as he pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the SUV. Christ, Holly was gone and he was left with two eating machines and a sprightly little Italian female who . . . who had his best interests at heart, Justin told himself wearily as he got behind the steering wheel.
Sixteen
Holly paid the taxi driver the fare for the ride home from the bus station and slid quickly out of the car, wincing as bright sunlight struck her face. It had been a long exhausting ten hours and three transfers since she’d got on the bus in Los Angeles and she hadn’t slept a wink the whole way. Instead, she’d spent the entire journey mentally beating herself for everything from dream cheating on her husband to running with scissors.
Two weeks ago her life had been settled. She was married to a man she’d grown up with, had always loved, and could never imagine cheating on. She was working on the last year of her degree with the promise of a good career before her . . . and she was mortal. Now she had a marriage everyone seemed to think would quickly crumble to pieces, she had cheated on her husband, in her mind if not physically, and she was immortal.
She did still have her career though, Holly thought wryly. That, at least, hadn’t been affected by the events of that night at the cemetery. She still had her marriage too, though, and it was up to her to keep it. Holly was determined that she would.
She mounted the steps to the front porch and raised her hand to knock, then paused and tried the door knob instead. Her mouth immediately twisted with irritation when it opened. Honest to God, sometimes she could just smack James, she thought with irritation. Both her parents and his had co-signed on the mortgage. Both sets of parents had also gifted them with the down payment. This house was the best they could afford, but it wasn’t exactly in a good neighborhood . . . and she didn’t mind that. What she did mind was that her husband kept forgetting to lock the damned door in this less than sterling neighborhood. She understood that he had been raised in various tents where there was no such thing as a lock, but so had she and she didn’t forget to lock the door. Besides, they’d stopped living in tents seven years ago. Just how long was it going to take for him to start remembering to lock it?
Realizing that she was standing in the open door mentally ranting to herself, Holly shook off her anger and slid inside. Instead of being upset that he hadn’t locked it, she should be grateful that he had forgotten and she could enter, she told herself, because James was no doubt sleeping right now and the man slept like the dead. She could have been knocking a heck of a long time.
They would work on ways to help him remember to lock the door, Holly told herself as she closed and locked it herself. She headed up the hall and turned into the kitchen, heading first to the refrigerator. She hadn’t had anything but a coffee and donut since getting on the bus last night and was starved. Unfortunately, she opened the refrigerator to find it completely barren. It looked like James hadn’t shopped at all since she’d left. He’d probably hit the drive-thru on the way home and then on the way to work every day. The man wasn’t much of a cook. He could manage macaroni and cheese, or spaghetti, but that was it. It wasn’t like he was Justin, who could—
Holly cut that thought off abruptly. Having been raised in tents, neither of them had known much about proper cooking when they’d left their parents to start out on their own. Besides, Justin was over a hundred years old. He’d had a lot more time to learn to cook. It wasn’t fair to compare the two men, she told herself.
The doorbell rang and Holly quickly closed the refrigerator door and then rushed out of the kitchen and back up the hall to answer it before the bell rang again and woke up her sleeping husband. She pulled the door open, a polite smile of inquiry on her face, and then raised her eyebrows at the courier standing there.
“Delivery for Mrs. Holly Bosley.”
“Who from?” Holly asked curiously as she took the clipboard he held out.
“Argeneau Blood Bank.”
“Oh.” Holly flushed, a combination of embarrassment and alarm assailing her as she worried what the man might think she needed blood for. Did hemophiliacs keep blood in their homes?
“You’ll need a separate refrigerator for the blood,” the fellow announced as he took back his clipboard. “I gather someone will be out today to deliver one.”
“A separate refrigerator?” she asked uncertainly, stepping back as he picked up the cooler and stepped forward.
“Yes. In case of nosy visitors,” he explained. “You don’t want them opening the kitchen refrigerator in search of milk for their coffee and seeing stacks of blood lying around.”
“No,” Holly said faintly as she closed the door and led the way to the kitchen. That wasn’t something she’d even considered. Perhaps she hadn’t learned everything she needed to know about being an immortal after all.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” the young man said, setting the cooler on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator. Pausing then, he offered a hand. “I’m Mac, by the way. I’ll be delivering all your blood.”
“Oh.” Holly managed a smiled and shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” he said lightly, and then turned to open the refrigerator door and suggested, “I’d recommend your bedroom closet for the mini fridge they’re delivering. Even the nosiest visitor won’t poke far in there. Unless of course your husband is mortal and doesn’t know . . . as is apparently the case,” he added dryly as he quickly transferred the blood into the fridge.
“How did you know—” she began uncertainly.
“Newbies are easy to read,” he said apologetically. “Sorry.”
“You’re an immortal?” Holly asked with amazement.
Pausing, he glanced up and smiled, allowing his fangs to drop as he did.
“Oh . . . wow,” she said weakly and for some reason that made him chuckle.
“Don’t worry. You’ll start to recognize when an immortal is in your vicinity quick enough,” Mac assured her, going back to work.
“How?” Holly asked at once.
“You’ll feel a very faint sort of buzzing through your body,” he explained. “It’s probably happening right now, but because you’re still adjusting to being more sensitive to so many things at once, that one won’t get noticed at first.”
“I suppose you mean the hearing, smelling and seeing better?” Holly asked, and while she had noticed being able to see farther and hear conversations she wouldn’t have been able to before, it wasn’t like she suddenly had X-ray vision or anything.
“Your brain is overwhelmed right now with all the new levels of information. It’s not used to taking in so much data. You’ll notice the difference over time though,” Mac assured her as he finished transferring the blood, closed the refrigerator, and straightened with the cooler in hand.
“Oh,” Holly murmured as she followed him out of the kitchen. When they reached the front door, she asked, “Are you a newbie too?”
“Yeah. Two years tomorrow,” he announced with a grin as he opened the door. “It’s great, huh?”
“Great,” Holly said and his eyebrows rose at her lack of enthusiasm.
Reaching out, Mac patted her shoulder. “It’ll get better. Change can be hard, but once you adjust, you’ll enjoy it. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Holly whispered, and then watched silently as he walked out to the van parked in her driveway.