Page 79 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

And then there was Satan worship on a grand scale. What had probably started out as a lark for young people had turned into the real thing, all of it multiplied a thousandfold by Internet social media, which called it a religion no different than Christianity.

“What do those idiot followers think is being sacrificed on those satanic altars?”

“Doll babies?” she guessed.

The anchors, clearly agitated, interviewed every official and so-called expert they could get in front of a microphone, but even the specialists had no clear answer to what was happening, except to blame it on “terrorists.” The Republicans blamed the Democrats, and the Democrats blamed the Republicans. The blacks blamed the whites, the whites blamed the blacks. The Muslims blamed the Christians, and vice versa. Politicians said it was all the fault of immigrants, or oil prices dropping, or the economy, or lagging defense spending, or climate warming. Whatever. In other words, no one knew.

There were also strange cases of puddles of slime showing up in the areas of these criminal activities. The FDA and CDC were investigating.

“Good luck with that!” Zeb laughed. It wasn’t the first time that the public had discovered a pile of Lucie slime and took it to authorities for analysis. Nothing showed up.

“And I know from experience how hard it is to shovel that crap up,” Regina added.

Zeb shook his head in disgust and got up to check his cell phone again. It sat on the kitchen counter, ominously silent. Her phone hadn’t rung yet, either, although she and Zeb had given Jogeir, and in turn Vikar, a report two hours ago on the outcome here at the volcano. Jogeir had told them to sit tight until they got new orders.

Regina was tired of sitting tight. Fighting must be in her blood . . . pun intended . . . because, despite the rigors of their earlier “battle,” she was anxious to get into the fray again. At least that was the explanation she’d come up with for the antsy feeling that was making her squirm in her seat.

Zeb went into the pantry off the kitchen, probably to check once again that no perishable foods would be left behind. He called out to her then, “Regina, could you come here a minute?”

She put her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans and went over to the pantry. Zeb was standing before a mountain of paper towels. He glanced her way and said, “Shut the door.”

Huh? He must have gotten some message and didn’t want the others to overhear. She closed the door, which caused the interior light to go out.

But Zeb reached up and pulled a cord to turn the light on manually. He walked over to her then, and reached around to lock the door.

Definitely something secret and confidential. “What have you heard?” she asked anxiously.

“Not a thing.”

Huh?

He was standing close to her, really close.

She could probably count the number of incredibly long lashes on his lids which were at half mast, as if, as if . . . “Son of a cloud, Zeb, do you have to crowd me like this? Your fresh rain scent is like an aphrodisiac to me,” she blurted out.

What was wrong with her, that she could divulge something like that? The same something that had caused her to practically assault the man last night. That made her lick her suddenly dry lips now, then inhale deeply.

He smiled.

“Forget I said that,” she hastened to add.

“Not a chance!” He chucked her under the chin. “I’ve been on a cinnamon high nonstop all day. What do you suppose I should do about it?” He trailed a fingertip along her jawline, from her ear to the center of her chin. Then, he inserted the same fingertip into her mouth, took it out, and tasted it himself.

Holy frickin’ hormones! “Uh, I thought you were having regrets.”

While she’d been distracted by words and his wicked fingertip, he’d been more into action. Other action. She was backed up against the door, and her jeans were unzipped before he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his hips.

He pressed himself against her core. “Does that feel like regret?”

For a guy who’d recently suffered major damage to his package, he sure was coming back with a vengeance.

A wash of hot lust swept over her, and she put her arms around his shoulders. Still, she had to ask, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“No.” He was licking her neck.

“Then why?” She arched her neck to give him easier access.

“Regina, Regina! Has no one ever told you that if you feed the tiger, it will come back for second helpings? And third? And fourth?”