Underdead In Denial (Sequel to Underdead) --Opening Chapters

part 2

The stage lights went up and the audience around me went wild, clapping and whistling at whatever was happening on stage. I sat frozen in my seat, staring at the man occupying the seat next to me, watching the lights from the stage dance over the sharp cheekbones and harsh planes of his lean face. Brilliant blue eyes the color of the night sky just before the sun went down glinted with intelligence and humor.

It had been months since I’d seen Will. He hadn’t changed a bit. His inky black hair was still longer than current fashion. He still favored beautifully tailored black clothes that undoubtedly cost more than I made in six months. I couldn’t have clicked my heels and wished up a more gorgeous male. And as if that weren’t enough, he was intelligent, had a wry sense of humor and could charm chocolate off a newly dumped woman with PMS. He was, decidedly, perfect in every conceivable way.

Except for the tiny personality flaw of wanting me dead.

Undead, actually. Like him.

For one wild moment, I considered jumping to my feet and telling everyone to make a run for it as there was a vampire loose in the theater. But I didn’t. No one would have believed me. Everybody knows vampires don’t exist.

As if in mockery of that thought, the very real warmth from Will’s lean, lithe body radiated across the armrest. Oh, he existed all right. And, God help me, he smelled fabulous. I have no idea if it was cologne or aftershave or just the soap he used combined with his natural scent. I’ve never been up on that sort of thing, but whatever it was, it was making my hormones hum as hard as my nerves.

I first met Will nearly a year ago. After a whirlwind sixty-minute courtship, he apparently decided I would do and sunk his teeth into my neck. Thinking him some sort of Goth freak who was taking the vampire thing a little too seriously, I fought him off. But not quickly enough. Not before he’d managed to turn me nearly into a vampire.

So that’s me, Jo Gartner. I have my mother’s red hair (The original red-gold shade, before her colorist, Rafael, got hold of her head and sanity.) and my father’s hazel eyes. I’m five foot ten and I’m almost Undead.

Last spring the secret had nearly cost me my life and I’d begged Will to leave me alone. To my surprise, he had honored that request. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him, all spring, all summer, all fall…

Until now.

A cold rush of fear snapped me out of my open-mouthed shock. “What are you—”

Will put a finger to my lips.

“Shhh, let’s watch the rest of the play. I admit to being intrigued by this…unique interpretation of the classic.” As he spoke, his mouth brushed my ear, sending warm shivers down my spine. Goose bumps of terror popped out everywhere else.