Wait, Am I A Zombie? [BOOK 3]

I glanced down to see Bane's hand on my lap, palm up with a black box carved with the initials H.W. Sweet baby Jesus!

Bane continued, "Remember those four days apart?"

Did I ever. Bane had been a manipulative asshole and I'd stayed apart from him for four days. I hadn't asked what he'd done in that time because I hadn't really cared. Now, I cared a helluvalot!

I nodded and swallowed thickly, eyes locked on the tiny, tiny box. It amazed me that something so small could hold something so massive, so heavy. "Y-Yeah."

"Well." He shifted and reached around me, opening the lid with his other hand. "I went out and got you a proper ring. I think it's time for me to propose to you like a gentleman." His voice was soft, hot and steady against my ear. "Georgia Elaine Kent, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Asking. He was asking this time.

Even though we were married and there was no way of breaking that off unless I woke up one day craving blood with two holes in my neck, we were never getting divorced. So the asking was unnecessary but sweet.

I blinked rapidly as tears formed in my eyes. I never cried. I wasn't a girly-girl. No doubt I appreciated fine jewelry when it was in front of me, but I didn't cry about it. I hadn't even gotten teary-eyed at my impromptu wedding; I'd just shrugged and accepted it. But Bane was holding a freaking Harry Winston—yeah, I was obsessing about the company, but it was like getting an Hermes bag. It didn't happen everyday—ring, proposing to me like we were sweethearts who'd known each other forever. We hadn't even known each other for two whole weeks yet. But... but there was something about us. Yeah, I know I'm stealing a Daft Punk title, but they got it right. When I was with Bane, it wasn't just me—it was us. He'd been with me since day one, helped me, kicked me in the butt when I needed it, and coddled me when I didn't. What happened to the both of us in less than two weeks was more than most couples went through in two years, maybe even a lifetime.

I knew this man surrounding, holding, warming me. He might still be a mystery to me in some ways, but I knew him. All chocolate-covered primitive man trying to blend in as best as he could with modern society. I brought out the caveman, the warrior, that possessive male he kept locked inside.

Yeah, I hated him for those traits sometimes, but his unflinching loyalty, humor, and acceptance of my quirks made up for it. He'd never once asked me to change, and before it seemed like that was all people did. From my mom who insisted I lose weight to my ex who harped on me about watching too much TV. Everyone wanted me on their terms, but Bane didn't seem to have those expectations.

Smiling through tears I hadn't realized were falling, I shifted awkwardly in the circle of his arms until we were face-to-face, me straddling him. "You aren't a gentleman and I'm certainly not a lady. So let's do this Peaches and Bane style." I reached forward, cupping his face in both hands, and kissed him quickly, sliding my tongue in and running it over his teeth, before drawing back. "Are you my husband?"

Bane's lids lowered and his fangs popped out. "Hell yes. Are you my wife?"

"I'm your wife. Your queen. Whatever you want me to be."

His smile was strained as he pulled out the rings and slid them on my finger. "You never cease to amaze me, Peaches. Just when I think I've figured you out you surprise me."

I threw my arms around his neck, squeezing tight before stretching my hand out and staring at the diamond on my finger. It felt heavy. It looked heavy. There was no way I was going to forget it. "Just keeping you on your toes. And you know you're getting a ring too, right? That's priority number one."

Bane flashed me his hand and I melted a bit at the matching band. "You know me too well."

Tugging my shirt over my head, Bane flicked the clasps of my bra off and pulled the thing away. "Hmm," he purred as he leaned forward and nuzzled my chest. "Are you tired, habibiti?"

"Yes," I gasped when he sucked my nipple into his mouth.

"Too tired for this?" Cool fingers trailed up my thighs and around my hips to grip my ass and grind me against his erection.

Swear to God my eyes crossed.

"No, no, I'm good. Do that again."

He did something even better and I moaned. "Bedroom. Let's go to the bedroom."

My back hit the sofa, and not a second later cool air kissed my naked legs. "I like you here," Bane mumbled, hooking my legs over his shoulder and bending his head down.

"Okay."

Chapter Four: I Did it, Didn't I?

True to his word, Bane left for meetings the next day and I went shopping with Samantha, while Luther tagged along sans Casper and Zeno. It didn't take a genius to realize there were only two reasons both Zeno and Casper weren't with us: either they were doing the vertical tango or with Bane, kinging it up.

Pretty sure it was the tango.

In good ol' Peaches fashion, I shopped and ate then shopped and ate some more. Super awesome. Except it didn't last.

Nope.

One day. One awesome, haute fashion, mani-pedi, and poolside lounging day.

But at three in the Godforsaken morning I woke up ambush style: hand over my mouth while an arm tried to hold me down. It took me almost five minutes to escape the assassin's clutches. Braced for the Collector's minion, I'd stood on legs shoulder width apart, fists ready, muscles loose only to see Zeno across from me with a frown tugging her full lips down.

"Five minutes thirteen seconds." She shook her head in disappointment. "I could have killed you ten times over."

"'Ave you gone mad?"

"Is that supposed to be a British accent?"

"No, it's 'posed to be my foot up your arse, you bloody tosser!"

She tilted her head to the side as if the new angle would someone help her understand me better.

"Speak normally."

"Well I can't speak bloody normally if I don't know what bloody normal is!" I screamed, eyes moving around the room only to realize Bane was not in bed.

Oh! Plus, I was in one of his shirts and a pair of undies. Since when did I wear anything to Bane's bed?

Bastard dressed me.

Bastard knew.

"She still got out," my husband said from the bathroom door.

"Because I allowed it," Zeno snapped as Casper, Luther, and Samantha filed into my bedroom like this was all part of the plan. "If I'd drugged her she would be dead."

"Hello?" I waved my arm to myself, American accent back as realization slipped in. "Still here. Also, so not cool. All of you just got off my shit list, do you really want to be back on it?"

They flat out ignored me.

"We need to prepare her better. You three were too easy on her. She is not glass that will break," Zeno said, striding over to Casper short skirt, long jacket style with a pair of black thigh-high stiletto boots that did not go with the Egyptian heat.

"There a reason you look like an S&M mistress?"

"What?" She swung her head and all that hair my way. "What is that?"

"Sadism and Masochism. Didn't you read Fifty Shades?"

A blank look passed across everyone's face but Samantha's. Nope, the witch tilted her head, looked at Zeno, and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Well how-de-freakin-do. Reading buddy alert! Book club for days with all sexy alpha males with their thick—

"First I kill—who were they?—Jason and Joe. Do I need to take up book burning now?"

Jason and Joe? Who were—Right. Khal Drogo and Alcide.

"I can't have fantasies anymore, Bane?"

His teeth shone stark against his skin. "Not when you have me."

It was time anyway. Fantasizing about other women's husbands wasn't my thing, especially when I'd slit the throat of anyone who tried with my man. Well, throat-slitting was heavy. Maybe light bone-breaking. A pinky or something.

Jason, Joe, and our island getaway flitted through my mind, both men waving goodbye as I released the image along with any hope of being able to read erotica again.

At least not around my husband.

"Heard that."

"So," I started, ignoring him and making the universal sign for 'get the hell out of my room' as I shuffled the supernaturals to the living room. "Please say you have a good reason for nearly killing me in my nice, warm bed."

"Your recognition ceremony is in five days," Casper said as explanation.

Bane shot his BFF a look. "Unless I can move it."

"Unlikely," Luther tossed in.

"Someone wanna explain what midnight kidnapping attempts have to do with the RC?" Wait. Duh. Rhetorical. "You think the Collector is one of the royals."

"No," they all answered.

"The ceremony is notoriously... unusual," Zeno chimed in as she perched on the arm of the chair Casper took over, his arm loose at her waist with her knees crossed and turned toward the vampire. "A glorified form of entertainment where whatever wild imagings they have are put into practice and peddled as 'essential' to determine potential success."

I wondered if Zeno and Casper even realized what they were doing. If the stiffening of the pair said anything, nope. That ish was instinctual.

Fluidly, as if she'd planned it from the start, Zeno sashayed across the plush carpet to the partly open curtains, continuing, "It's also likely you'll have to fight for the right—"

"To party?"

"—rule as a vampire queen in events meant to kill you," she finished with a narrowing of her eyes. "Many who do not pass are left with their lives. You will not be so lucky."

Left with their lives made it sound like they lost something else.

Gulp.

"So we're going back to training." It wasn't a question of if but when. Heck, it wasn't even a question.

Head nods all around.

"Harder than before."

Chin up. Forehead down. Chin back up.

"I'm trying to postpone it," Bane said gently again, coming to stand in front of me.

"Didn't you already do that with the Pheehan Pack?"

Jaw tick meant yes and Bane's tick was flickering fast.

Glancing around my husband's broad shoulders, I addressed the room. "Is this one of those 'you're probably not going to die but we're going to act like you are and push you hard even though we know that we'll step in when the shit hits the fan' times?"

Dead. Freaking. Silence.

"Oookay." I patted Bane's shoulder as I walked around him to Zeno. "You said five minutes? I can do it in three."

With the kind of grace reserved for movie stars and big cats Zeno turned and smiled with all the ruthless, infinite, crazy vampire power she kept at the tip of her fingers. "Do you think you are ready?"

I went toe-to-toe with the ancient vampire, fully aware I was still in Bane's shirt and a pair of barely there panties that were more for Bane's benefit than mine. "When has me being ready changed a damn thing?"

Her eyes flashed from brown to red, so different from the slow bleeding of Bane's or the near constant state of Luther's. Chick flipped switches to be what was needed. "I look forward to crushing that spirit."

"I look forward to seeing you try."

Chapter Five: Don't Wish Me Luck

For all the horror and romance novels about vamps, most got it super wrong. Reality, as I was spin-your-head-around learning, was a lot crazier than anything in books simply because I was living it. See, in books I didn't have to physically be in the middle of a moon and candle-lit desert surrounded by massive tents, staring down at a bloody pit. Not bloody as in fucking, but like blood-splattered walls and floors.

No spine tingling foreboding there.

"Talk about overkill."

"Watch what you say," Zeno hissed through a smile as she queen-waved to a dainty-looking Asian king and queen holding court under a gold and red tent.

"Why?" I muttered sourly, keeping pace with the vampiress as we strolled in front of the tents. "Not like they can't read my mind anyway."

"Just because they can doesn't mean they will."

Suuuuuuuuure. It was like Zeno wanted me to get killed.

I mentally paused and thought about that for a second.

Yeah, probably.

But I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. In fact, from this moment forward I was going to dedicate my life to getting Zeno to not only tolerate but like me. Pure, unadulterated like.

"Do not."

Challenge accepted.

I could practically feel Zeno's scorn on the back of my head as I continued to try and wrap my mind around how I'd gone from practically dying on the rubber mat of a gym to walking around in an Irene Neuwirth gown complete with gold accessories to complement the diaphanous gold dress and matching silk slippers.

Not five hours earlier, I'd been in a private training room specifically for vampires in the hotel. In typical Bane fashion, my husband arrived, announced we were leaving, grabbed Zeno and me then boarded a plane. I'd wanted to ask what was happening, but the look on his face shut me down. Zeno had been similarly on edge, obsessively picking at the dirt under her nails as she stared out the window.

Didn't take a genius to figure out there'd been a change of plans, sprung on Bane at the last moment. Five days of training shortened to three and I was worn out. We'd planned to go hard for three days then ease and recuperate the last two days with no physical exercise, instead working on my M.R. powers and ability to control my poisonous blood and acid.

Going in with sore muscles and the same damn control—minimal at best—didn't exactly make me feel prepared. Bane and Zeno weren't helping either. And with the total lack of Samantha, Luther, and Casper I was one step away from freaking out.

Had anything I'd done in the last three weeks prepared me for meeting a bunch of uppity-ass vamp royals? The answer was no. Less than no if that was possible.

But ya know what did? Movies!

Finally, a time when TV came in handy because while Bane and Zeno slummed it as kings and queens these folks did not. We'd arrived private jet style on a makeshift runway in part of the desert I was pretty sure used to be ocean with seashells every three feet. One sleek limo ride later had me in a small oasis like setting with massive, colorful tents grouped in a circle while ruins stretched for miles in the background.

To be exact there were fourteen tents, with 26 royals spread out between them. Bane and Zeno had rushed through the regions on the plane, trying to drill into me names and defining characteristics of each royal set. Of course, when confronted with the actual vampires it all fell out of my head like poorly constructed moving boxes with all my precious, breakable picture frames.

Whoops.

At least the regions had a color scheme that was easy enough to remember once Bane pointed it out in the short walk to our own gold and orange tent. It'd taken herculean effort to pay attention to his words instead of his ass. Bane, like me, was rocking gold. Except his was in the form of white harem pants that were baggy on his legs but tight on his ass, with this turquoise and gold patterned loincloth-thing falling over the front. He was also sans shirt, opting for a heavy-looking, elaborate necklace that covered most of his chest. Gold cuffs squeezed his biceps and a variety of rings—including his wedding one thank you very much—sat on his fingers. Kohl lined Bane's eyes and his hair was down around his face, held back by a thin rope of gold tied across his forehead.

Bane in king mode was something to behold. Hell, worship! So when I stumbled a few times and asked him to repeat a couple things, he didn't get all huffy with me. My husband knew he was hot, knew it affected me, and was more than fine with that and forgave my ass-goggling and involuntary moan when he casually scratched his fingers across his abdomen.

Umm... tents. Right. There were three European tents in shades of purple, four red tents from Asia with various Asian-esque designs, another three from the Americas in greens, one from Australia in a deep blue, and three from Africa in vibrant golds, oranges, and blacks.

The colors and patterns were gorgeous, all forming a tight circle around the pit-o-doom and decorated with throne-like chairs, thick rugs, and pillows everywhere. Asia's tents were crowded with people, most looked like servants with collars around their necks or cuffs on there arms.

Not cool, Asia. Not cool. Eight couples sat on high, speaking with various people laid out on the rugs around them while drinking blood from dainty, look-at-it-wrong-and-watch-it-explode glasses.

Might as well start to find out where everyone fell on the ally-nemesis scale before this shindig officially started.

"Who are they again?" I nodded to the royals as we passed.

"The North Asian Mian and Baozi," Zeno supplied, nodding her head to each following royal set. "South and South East Asians Lassi and Holige. The South West Europeans Boudin and Paella..." She stopped and turned to me. "You are not listening, and I do not talk for my health."

"Sorry, but, um, is there a reason we're not saying hi?" So far we'd done a slow loop but not approached anyone and no one approached us. The recognition in the Recognition Ceremony was sorely missing.

"You're not recognized yet, which means you have to wait to be invited. And I'm not allowed to leave you alone but I can't bring you with me."

"And you came with me instead of Bane because someone needs to hold down the fort."

"I'm not familiar with that saying, but my brother is unable to leave his territory once he's in it."

"And that means?"

"The tents act similar to embassies in a fashion," Zeno explained. "But royals aren't... supposed to leave their territories because it's akin to abandoning them."

"How do they talk to each other then?"

"Intermediaries. Merchants for important matters and pledged servants for inconsequential things like food and drink."

God, these customs were going to choke me. All of it was just so stuffy. So regimented and orderly, completely unlike Bane and our posey.

"We're not like them."

"Why not?"

"We choose not to be."

A smile split my face because it was such a Bane answer. There were some moments when I was sure brother and sister were terms of endearment the two vamps just threw around, but other times the familial resemblance was so strong I'm surprised the two weren't twins.

We continued to walk and she picked up the royal name game, rattling them off as I half-listened. It wasn't until Australia when I started to pay attention again. "Where's the king?"

Zeno looked to the dark blue tent and the queen who sat completely alone on her throne. Not a soul in sight.

"There is no king for Australia."

"No vamp strong enough for the throne."

"They've all died."

I flinched back, whipping my head to Zeno. "'Scuse me?"

But a crock of a finger and lopsided smile stopped my sister-in-law's response. We were being summoned. By the queen of Australia.

Yay?

Despite the protests from my brain to avoid going to the place where "all the kings died" my feet carried me with no problems, sticking me in front of a striking woman. Her skin was very dark, tinted as if she's gotten the color from ancestors who lived and died under the sun. There was a glow to her, matched by the miles of glossy, flowing black hair that swept the floor in a fishtail braid.

Like everyone else she was dressed to impress. Unlike the Western clothes all the Americas plus Europeans wore, she made a bold image with Aboriginal designs. Browns, oranges, and reds flowed together over feathers, finger drawn animals, and dot patterns in a mermaid dress with sweetheart neckline that accentuated her curves and emphasized the white clay markings down her arms, across her chest, and over her face.