Fangs for the Memories, Part 4, Ann Gimpel

“Well, there might be a way you could convince me to change my mind. All you have to do is…”

I held up a hand not at all sure I was ready for whatever would roll out of his perfectly formed mouth. Damn it, anyway. Why did the undead have to be so drop dead gorgeous? I gave myself a firm mental slap to refocus. “Hold up for a moment, please.”

Mal stared at me, and then made come along motions with one long-fingered hand. “Out with it. You interrupted me.” A low snarl rode beneath his words.

Oh-oh. I pasted a smile on my face, hoping I didn’t look at terrified as I felt. What came after that growl? A bite? My neck tingled unpleasantly. Joining the ranks of the undead was deucedly low on my bucket list. So low, I’d never even considered the possibility.

“Lydia!” He snapped his fingers.

“I had an idea,” I said brightly, probably too brightly as I kept a close eye on him and plowed ahead. “My cards are in the car. Let me get them—and my magic. I’ll read for you.”

“That’s your idea?” Incredulity streamed from him.

“Tarot is a truly ancient divinatory practice,” I protested. “You have nothing to lose. You’ve already decided to off yourself. What difference will another half hour make?”

“When you put it that way,” he muttered and vanished.

I blinked stupidly at the spot where he’d stood. What the hell?

Before I could take another breath, he zipped back into place, dropped my cards on a low, carved wooden table, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on with it.”

“But my magic—”

“You can’t be that stupid,” he growled. “Did you check for it?”

My cheeks grew warm. Hot words crowded the back of my throat. No one talked to me like that, but this wasn’t the time to take a stand. I plopped down on a plush Oriental rug in front of the coffee table and gathered up my cards. The feel of them in my hands steadied me. When I reached for my power, it pulsated warmly, thick and sweet as honey.

“Come over here,” I instructed.

“Why”

“So you can shuffle the deck. It needs the feel of your energy. While you’re at it, come up with a question you want the cards to answer.”

He made a huffing sound but joined me on the far side of the table. I could have sworn I heard joints creaking as he lowered his lanky frame to the rug. I felt the weight of his gaze and realized I still held the cards. Placing them in front of him, I said, “Shuffle three times, please.”

As he shuffled, I debated what type of reading to do. Keep it simple, one of my inner mavens whispered. Solid advice.

Once he was done, I cut the deck into three mostly equal piles and flipped the top card for each. Readings rarely surprise me, but my eyes may have widened.

“So?” He sounded impatient. “What does it mean?”

I cleared my throat. Amazing such an ancient creature knew nothing about the cards. “This stack”—I pointed—“represents your past. It’s the Hanged Man.”

“What a crock,” he sputtered.

“No. It’s perfect since it represents your transformation into one of the undead.” Before he could make any more disparaging remarks, I tapped the center stack. “This is your present. It’s the Tower card, and generally it means sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, and awakening.”

“Might fit,” he admitted grudgingly. “At least the revelation part. What’s that one?” He pointed at the future stack.

“It’s the Chariot.” I paused and picked my words carefully. “Generally, it represents an unfulfilled passion. Something you must address to make yourself whole. It might be why you’ve been feeling so disconnected.” I rocked back on my heels and took a chance by briefly meeting his unsettling gaze. Seemed safe enough since he wasn’t trying to turn me into dinner, at least not yet.

He frowned, thick brows coming together over the bridge of his aquiline nose. Good, meant he was thinking. I looked away before I got lost in what the feel of his thickly muscled form would feel like pressed against me. Christ, what was wrong with me? I’d been literally kidnapped. How could I be fantasizing about my captor. It was way too soon for Stockholm Syndrome to have set in. Clearly, I needed a man in my life…

Not this one. My inner wise woman was back in spades.

To cover my discomfiture, I kept talking. “Think about the question you held in your mind and how it relates to the Chariot card.”

“Oh yeah. That,” he mumbled and picked up the card, gazing at it.

I sucked in a breath and held it. Would my gambit work? Was he sorting a path to remain on this side of the veil?

The tense aspect of his jaw relaxed. So did the vertical lines across his forehead. “Thank you,” he said.

I waited, hoping against hope I wouldn’t be forced to function as a medieval dentist. When he didn’t say anything further, I prodded, “Why thank me?”

“This has made me remember—”

Tomorrow, Part Five will be uncoffined by Polly Holmes…