How Nina Got Her Fang Back: Accidental Quickie (Accidentally Paranormal Series Book 13) Read online

  Her friend let go, jerking Nina’s body in the chair, and turned to face January, running a hand over her mussed skirt before holding it out and beaming a warm smile. “Wanda Schwartz-Jefferson, Dr. Malone. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for so graciously agreeing to do so.”

  January shook her hand, the fine-boned fingers cool to her touch, and smiled back. “One of Nina’s best friends, I assume?”

  Her smile was warm and open, her makeup artfully applied with subtle strokes, highlighting her clear skin and sparkling eyes. “After that entrance, I’m sure you doubt the validity of that statement, but yes. I’m one of them, and I apologize. Sometimes brute force is the only way to handle a situation with our troubled ex-vampire.”

  “And I’m BFF number two,” a pretty blonde with fluffy hair falling down to the middle of her back and sparkling sapphire-blue eyes said from the doorway.

  She strode across the threshold, her fashionable wedge sandals hushed, her flowing print maxi dress floating about her ankles as she dumped a can of Pepsi and a bag of something that smelled a lot like chicken wings into Nina’s lap.

  She, too, held out her hand with a smile as warm and open as her friend Wanda’s. “Marty Flaherty. Lovely to meet you. Please help us. Please. I’ll give up my ovaries and free makeup for life if you’ll just help us.”

  As January rose to shake her hand, she noted Nina slumped farther down in her chair and pulled a napkin from the pocket of her hoodie. Then she proceeded to pop open the can of Pepsi and root about in the bag, pulling out a chicken wing and holding it up as though she’d found the answer to the meaning of life before digging in.

  “Is there anything you need from us? Some way we can help this process?” Wanda asked as she nudged Nina with an elbow and frowned, using her thumb to wipe away the buffalo wing sauce at the corner of her friend’s mouth.

  Marty nodded her head and crossed her arms over her chest, making her bangle bracelets jangle. “Anything. We’ll do anything. Please, just make her better, or nicer, or less like a giant on a lust-filled rampage for Lilliputian blood. And for the love of the ruler of the universe, get her to stop eating so much. She’ll have heart disease and clogged arteries if she licks one more Cheetos bag clean.”

  But January just smiled the way all good professionals do when they sense urgency from family and friends to hurry up and fix their loved ones. “I think we’ll be fine, ladies, but thank you so much for—”

  “Dumping my reluctant, ever-growing ass in your overpriced therapy chair?” Nina finally spoke before taking another enormous bite out of her chicken wing and licking each of her fingers.

  Her voice was oddly pleasant, husky and deeper than January had anticipated. Somehow, she’d thought she’d be louder, more nasally and abrasive.

  Wanda tugged a length of her friend’s silky hair in chastisement. “Nina, be polite. And for all that’s holy, chew with your mouth closed. Now, we’ll be right outside this door. If you need us—or should I say more aptly, if Dr. Malone needs us—please just give a yell. We’ve got your back.”

  Leaning down, Marty dropped a kiss on the top of Nina’s head and patted her shoulder with what January noted was deep affection and worry—so much worry, it was clear to a medical professional’s eye it was eating the woman up. “Get well, ex-bloodsucker. I love you.”

  But Nina swatted her blonde friend away with her free hand and a frown—because affection and nurturing weren’t her bag, and that was more than obvious.

  “Get the eff off and go look at the pretty pictures in Cosmo. Isn’t that your Bible? I’m sure there’s some dumbass article in there you haven’t seen yet. Like ten ways to turn your man on with tofu and Vaseline. Maybe they’ll even have pictures.”

  Wanda closed her eyes and sighed a ragged breath before she, too, planted a kiss on the top of Nina’s head with the same pained, worried expression. “Do this for Charlie, Nina. If for no one else, do it for her. I love you.”

  As both women took their leave in clouds of fruity perfume and beautiful clothing, January repositioned herself in her chair and put on her glasses. They always made her feel like she was in charge, in control.

  Which was likely ludicrous with this wild card sitting in front of her, but they still helped her with the pretense of control, anyway. They also helped to hide her lying eyes.

  Folding her hands in front of her, she began. “So no introductions needed, I suppose. But just in case, I’m Dr. January Malone.”

  Nina grunted and tilted her chin upward. “Just in case, I’m Nina Blackman-Statleon. Not a doctor, but I play one on TV.” Then she cackled, pleased with her joke.

  Nina was in the phase where she wasn’t taking this enormous change in her life or therapy seriously just yet.

  So January humored her with a return cackle. “I have a master’s degree in paranormal psychology and human studies. I’ve been practicing for over thirty years.”

  The ex-vampire licked her fingers. “I have a degree in chicken wings, beer, and fuck you up if you look at me the wrong way. I’ve been practicing for over forty.”

  January fought another grin and continued. “And you’re an ex-vampire.”

  She displayed the slightest twitch in her tight body language, almost unnoticeable, before her eyes hardened and her jaw cracked. “Yep. That’s me. Ex-night dweller.”

  Reaching in her drawer, January pulled out her favorite paranormal accoutrement and held it up so the soft lighting of her office caught the sparkling tip. “If you’re wondering how someone like me can hope to help a person like you, just FYI, I’m a witch—and that also accounts for how young I look as compared to my medical practicing experience. So I understand the inner workings of the paranormal, the lifestyle, the challenges of living in a human world in hiding, etcetera.”

  Nina, who’d been very studiously digging around in the chicken wing bag, looked up suddenly, her sharp eyes boring holes into January’s face. “Shut the fuck up. Is that a real goddamn wand?”

  January made a swishy circle in the air and pointed it at Nina’s feet, lighting a small fire before snapping her fingers to extinguish the flames. “Yep.”

  “You got a crystal ball?”

  “It’s at the dry cleaners.”

  Nina cackled, but then she eyed January with skepticism. “Aw, but hold up. Like abracadabra, pointy-hat witch, or crazy-ass, wart-on-your-nose, dance-naked-in-a-pentagram witch?”

  January almost snorted, but she fought it in an effort to keep her role as caregiver on task. “Um, more along the lines of abracadabra and white witch. Herbal remedies, the occasional spell. No broom or cauldron, though. But sometimes, if the mood is right, I’ll break out the pointy hat. Just because it kinda looks cute on me and it’s a mean conversation starter.”

  “Hah! In all the tenth-level nutassery we’ve witnessed, we haven’t seen one witch. A genie, yeah. But no witches. Can you even believe that shit, Doc? Very cool gig you got there.” She gave January a thumbs-up then cracked her knuckles as though preparing to do battle.

  “It has its perks.” And today, it was having its not-so perks.

  “Okay, now that we got all the pleasantries and common courtesy bullshite out of the way, let’s get the show on the road. I don’t really want to be here. Like, I wanna be here about as much as I wanna be at a Payless BOGO on a Saturday in Manhattan. I hate feelings, I hate talking about feelings. I hate to feel, got that? But I’m doing it because my kid needs a healthy mother with a healthy mind, and those two morons with the title BFF use her as their tool to get me to do what they want me to do all the time. So I’m here.” Then she paused and peered at January before scooting the chair forward and taping her index finger on the desk between them. “Shouldn’t you be writing this shit down in that stack o’ crap you got there?”

  January flapped a hand at her before pointing to her temple. “Nah. I’ve got a pretty good memory. Anyway, as you were saying…feelings suck or something along those lines?”

  N
ina pointed a chicken wing at her. “Exactly. I don’t know why everyone wants me to talk about how I feel now that I’m not a vampire. I think it’s GD obvious. I can eat whatever the fluff I want. I can go outside without slathering myself from head to toe with that coconutty shit Marty’s always carrying around in her mom bag. And did I say I can eat whatever the fuck I want?”

  “You did. Twice in one paragraph. But you failed to tell me if this huge change in your life makes you happy. Does it? Make you happy? Are you happier without the burden of immortality? Or is that an emotion you hate, too?”

  Nina sighed, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “Is this one of those games you head doctors play to get me to say shit I don’t want to say? Can’t we do the thing where you show me all the pictures and I tell you everything looks like entrails and death and then you write it down in your notes in my fat-ass chart, you call me violent and volatile, and we call it a day?”

  January fought a smile. “The Rorschach test? I’m a paranormal psychologist, Nina. We don’t operate in quite the same way as a human doctor would. So no pictures or flash cards. Just you and me and an evaluation of where you’re at in your life.”

  Nina took a long gulp of her Pepsi, using her forearm to wipe her mouth. “I’m at chicken wings and Ring-Dings. That’s where I’m at.”

  “Do you want to stay there?”

  “Nope. I’d like to move on to a ham and Swiss on rye and some seasoned curly fries, but my friends say I have to sit here with you while you dig around inside my head and fix me.”

  “Do you always listen to your friends?”

  “Only when I want to or when they make some damn sense.”

  “So you’re the master of your own ship then? No one tells you how to steer your course?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, did you already use a metaphor for my life? Yes, I’m the master of my ship. I’m the head cheerleader of my life’s fucking cheerleading team. I’m the goddamn top dog, CEO of the Corporation of Nina. Okay?” she spat, her lips tight, her teeth clenched. “I gotta use the facilities. You mind?” She held up her hands to show January they were sticky with Buffalo wing sauce.

  January motioned to her private bathroom behind her. “Please. Be my guest.”

  As Nina strode toward the bathroom, her long legs eating up the short distance, January paid close attention to her tense frame and flashing coal-black eyes.

  This was a clear sign Nina’s circumstance left her feeling out of control these days. Unbeknownst to Nina, she’d played right into the jackhole’s hands. This was exactly what he wanted the clan to hear, and because he was monitoring every session she’d have with the ex-vampire via hidden camera, they’d all see Nina’s abrasive behavior.

  And January hated that, because Nina wasn’t just angry and reckless. She was so much more. She was a tangled web of brutal honesty, uncensored, crude assessments, and ride-or-die loyalty.

  January didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to poke around in this woman’s life and find every fault then magnify them by ten thousand so it looked like she was unfit to be a part of the clan.

  But if she didn’t, she’d pay. And she’d pay dearly.

  Chapter 2

  She’d pay because Artem Casteel, a.k.a the Jackhole, would make her pay. Artem, sire to a small vampire clan of three thousand, and current leader of the “bring me Nina Blackman-Statleon’s head on a pike” coalition, was a twenty-first century vampire supremacist and a big, very vocal head honcho consultant on the paranormal council of elders.

  He’d wormed his way in by greasing palms and doing “special” favors…but it was his personal agenda that worried January and kept her up at night.

  The centuries-old vampire knew exactly what he was doing—the sociopath. What bothered him was, he also knew January knew exactly what he was doing.

  He wanted a pure race of vampires, and in an effort to get what he wanted, he’d invested a great deal of time convincing the other vampire clans and paranormal council members it was what they wanted, too.

  Artem and his closest right-hand officials in Clan Casteel didn’t like any kind of crossbreeding, either. Worse, he didn’t like Nina and Greg’s choice to raise their baby daughter, Charlie, with the knowledge she was both vampire and genie.

  He’d used Nina and her last debacle with a mob of Russian bears to rile the elders of the council to a frothy frenzy like one would whip a good meringue to a stiff peak. He’d wooed them with his charm and his charisma.

  He’d swayed them, misguided them, manipulated them until he’d turned Nina into the shining example of everything the clans shouldn’t want mucking up their carefully constructed world.

  And he’d done it until he’d turned an unwitting Nina into the equivalent of a human’s modern-day Antichrist.

  He’d also put January right in the middle of it all, with the clans and the paranormal council of elders setting their sights on her to rid them of this alleged blight on their vampirism.

  They wouldn’t dirty their hands by doing the deed personally, nor would they risk the wrath of Nina’s husband, Greg, should he hear about the rail they planned to run Nina out of town on.

  No, they’d let January play the role of bad guy, and they’d let her do it because, unbeknownst to the council, Artem had blackmailed her into doing it—literally made her volunteer. And January’s council, her very own coven, had gone along with this idea that Nina was some sort of danger to the world of paranormals.

  Not just because they’d bought Artem’s hype, but because it looked good to have one of their prestigious own represent them in securing safety for the paranormal world. The coven was all about appearances and keeping in good stead with their fellow paranormal peers.

  And now it was all in January’s lap.

  But she had a plan. A plan she’d prayed to the goddess would work every night since she’d been given this heinous task. If she could just get Nina to use that soft, gooey center of hers instead of her fists and verbally abusive words, half her battle would be fought.

  But she had to be careful not to use her magic to get her to do that. Which meant she had to be sharper and more cunning than ever.

  Swallowing, January sought to soothe Nina. Bring her back into focus, disengage her, redirect her to kinder thoughts. She needed an ally, not a foe. Leaning back in her chair, she mused about how to deal with the ex-vampire who’d all but clenched a fist in preparation to clock her square in the head.

  So January tiptoed forward anyway. This was a good plan. It was solid. Mostly. And it wasn’t like Nina wasn’t struggling. She was desperately trying to keep her head above water while she ate her way through her fears.

  January wanted her to see that even though she was no longer a vampire, she was worthy. She was still just as good on the inside without her vampirism, without her strength—she could still contribute. She’d just have to show it in other ways.

  As Nina took her seat again, she rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek and waited.

  January broke the silence. “So, okay, cheesy metaphors aside, wanna tell me why you decided to listen to your friends and come see me? I suppose you didn’t have to. Their opinions must mean something to you, yes?”

  Nina licked her lips and smacked them, but her defiant coal-black eyes were no longer raging, they were softer. “Sure. They mean something. They’re my family. They all mean something to me. We’ve been together a long damn time.”

  January nodded and scrolled Nina’s chart. “I see that. Eight years, almost nine now. Plenty of memories made, I’d guess.”

  “Feels like fucking eight hundred years most days,” she responded then cackled.

  “Yeah. Family can do that to you. Do you feel like they interfere too often? Stick their noses into your life too much? Dole out advice when you don’t want it.”

  Nina rolled her gorgeous eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Fuck yeah, I think that. Didn’t you just see Wanda dunk me in this chair like I wa
s a fucking NBA basketball and force me to have my head shrunk? Doesn’t that say ‘stick your cute, perky nose in where it doesn’t belong’ to you?”

  “Ever ask them to butt out? Set boundaries?”

  “Nope.”

  January cocked her head, leaning forward on the desk separating them. “Because?”

  “Because that’s who the fuck they are. That’s how they love me and everyone around them. Some people show their love with food, like Arch, Wanda’s manservant. He cooks and dotes to show his love. Ass-Sniffer and Mother Hen coddle you, smother the flip out of you, make you shop with them, Skype with them. Who am I to tell them they can’t love me in the only way they seem to know how? They coddle. I slap their hands. They coddle some more. It’s a cycle. But it’s one I’m unwilling to break because that’s how they show their love. I show mine by calling them snarky names and giving them shit because that’s who I am. I accept them for who they are.”

  “And that’s why you’re here. They loved/smothered/coddled you into seeing me because you’re struggling with some pretty serious anger issues since your accident, correct? Issues that have almost cost you your life?”

  Now she sank deeper into the chair, pulling her hoodie back up over her head and crossing her booted feet at the ankles. This was what made Nina vulnerable—afraid. Expressing her fears out loud in words.

  Nina didn’t look at her when she spoke; her eyes fell to the floor and her jaw remained stiff. “I’m here because they think I’m going to get myself killed with the kind of work we do for OOPS—because I can’t keep up the way I did when I was a vampire. Because I’ve been a fucking vampire for eight years and I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself if I can’t go into some crazy battle for a client with the twins on either side of me. I don’t know what to do when they leave me out of the fray. It’s like I’m the receptionist, left to do all the damn paperwork, and they’re the heavies. I thought I was getting tired of never being able to have chicken wings again, but…”

  January watched Nina’s slender throat work, the visible effort she made when she swallowed to bite back the emotion she didn’t want to burden everyone with. The emotion attached to her immortality—or lack thereof.