"Ouch, dammit!" I yelped, skidding on my back like a bug and coming to a teeth-rattling stop against the parlor door. I was splayed in a most undignified way, luckily wearing walking shorts and not a miniskirt. And my jaw hurt like a bitch. So did my head, from where it had banged into the door. I responded to the indignity in the usual way. "Ouch. Dammit!"
While I was swearing, several people had come in (uninvited!), and all of them were looking down at me.
Wedding Ring Asshole crouched, blinked big yellow owl eyes at me, and said, "So it's true. You're a vampire. No mortal would be breathing after that one.
"Who's breathing?" I bitched. I started to sit up, but Wedding Ring Asshole quickly stood, planted his foot in the middle of my chest, and kept me flat on my back. "Oh, now. That's just plain rude. I mean, ruder." "You have much to answer for," he informed me. He was a fabulous looking fellow, I'll give the asshat that much. Tall, really tall. Brown hair and gold eyes. Not light brown, not hazel. Gold, like old coins. Not like an owl, more like. . . a lynx? A lion? Whatever. He was as powerfully built as Sinclair, and easily as tall. And I hadn't been laid in-
Never mind. Focus, Betsy! "Get your foot off my tits right now." Nobody puts his foot on my tits. It's a good rule to live by.
"After we talk."
"Oh, dude. You are so picking the wrong week to fuck with me."
"Produce my Pack member at once," W.R.A. demanded.
In response, I grabbed his ankle and twisted his foot all the way around. A hundred eighty degrees! Or would that be three sixty? Either way, he howled-an actual howl, like a dog!-and fell backward, losing his balance as his pulverized ankle collapsed under his weight. I flipped to my feet (well, more like staggered, but the important thing is, I was standing), momentarily triumphant.
I say momentarily because this did not make the other ones-four? five?-happy at all. I'm guessing this, because they all jumped on me at once. Unlike what happens in a karate movie, these guys didn't take turns. Nope, it was dog-pile time, with me on the bottom. (Did that make me the dog? Oh, never mind.)
I jerked my face to the side, just as a fist slammed through the floorboards where my head had been. "Wait. Wait!" I screamed.
Three fists (from two different people!) paused in midair, as I pulled my legs up, yanked off my saddle shoes (vintage, 1956, eBay, $296.26), and threw them into a corner.
"Okay," I said. "Go."
I blocked (barely) another fist, catching it on my crossed forearms a la Uma Thurman in Kill Bill (either one). I had zero martial arts training, but by God, I'd remember anything Uma did.
Fighting these guys was like dodging bullets: I could do it, but I sure as shit had to pay attention. They were fist. They were unbelievably fast. Old vampire fast. And their smell. Their iron-rich smell. It was tough Work, fighting them off and trying not to bite them at the same time.
I clawed my way back to the top of the pile through sheer force of will and, oh yeah, almost forgot, super human strength and reflexes. Not that these guys were too shabby in the area of paranormal abilities, either. Bums.
I managed to duck a few more punches and deal a few of my own, took a bite-a bite!-to the shoulder from one of them, and responded with a knee in the groin and a fist in the belly, so deep I thought I touched the guy's spine.
I took another punch to the nose (ow!) from a tank-top wearing brunette (the buzz cut was not for everyone, but it looked fabulous on her) and retaliated by stomping on the gal's ankle, smirking at the crunch, and the shriek.
I shouldn't have been smiling, I should have been pissed. Okay, I was pissed. But at least I was doing something instead of waiting for the phone to ring. If I couldn't squabble with Sinclair or bitch to Jessica, a knock-down, drag-out fight in my foyer was the next best thing.
Wedding Ring Asshole was coming for me again. and I watched in amazement as he limped, limped less, and, by the time he reached me, wasn't limping at all. I was so busy gaping I nearly forgot to duck as that ham-sized fist looped toward my head again.
Nearly. Instead I sidestepped the punch and shoved the guy so hard into the wall that the plaster (or whatever old walls are made out of) cracked all the way up to the ceiling.
Note to self: do not mention all the household repairs to Jessica until she is back on her feet.
The effect was so much fun I grabbed him by the hair and threw him into the wall again. Wheee!
"Don't hurt my daddy!" someone shrieked, and I was horrified to see a girl of about six standing to the side, white faced. How had I missed her? Besides the fact that the adults had all converged on me at once, like IRS agents on a small business owner?
"Are you people all crazy?" I cried. "You brought a little girl to a fistfight?"
I was so shocked that I didn't move fast enough to avoid the bullets: one to my heart, two to my left lung.
"Jeannie, no!" Wedding Ring Asshole howled, as I went down and down and down and down. .
