Dead Is The New Black

“Was born in Stalingrad, city of heroes,” Dmitri said stiffly. “Is insult you suggest this is lie, but I will forgive. L’ubimaya means sweetheart, and since this is how I feel for you I cannot let you continue doing things you will regret later. I am sorry, Natashya, but this is for own good.”

Why is it that when people tell you it’s for your own good, it always turns out to be something bad? I should have been expecting Dmitri’s sudden move but I wasn’t, which kind of bothers me when I reflect that “Shit, why didn’t I see that coming?” is probably the last thought a lot of vamps have before they’re swept into the big dust bin in hell.

And even though his plan was to immobilize me, not dust me, when the wild garlic lasso dropped over my head and shoulders and cinched tight around my upper body, pinning my arms to my sides, I still would have been in deep doo-doo…if it had worked.

“Nausea you feel is regrettable but unavoidable,” Dmitri said as he began walking toward me, reeling in the slack end of the garlic garland like a cowboy walking toward a roped steer. “In moment you will lose consciousness, so will not be so bad for you. Then I will call Darkheart and he will decide if is time to attempt Heal.”

“Is that Plan A?” I asked curiously. “Because if the whole thing hinges on the me-feeling-nauseous-and-blacking-out part, you’d better hope you have a Plan B, comrade.”

“What do you—”

I didn’t let him finish. Even as he took his next step toward me I grabbed hold of the woven strands of garlic that bound me and ripped them apart. Dmitri froze and his gaze met mine.

“It’s not possible,” he said tonelessly. “You’re a vamp, or near enough. Garlic’s your fucking kryptonite.”

“I know.” Deliberately I took a half step toward him and saw wariness flicker across his hard features. “I can’t explain it, either, especially since I felt like I was dying when Darkheart used it against me earlier this evening. But now…” I held up one of the tiny white flowers and inhaled deeply. Wrinkling my nose in distaste, I tossed the blossom aside. “Okay, I still think it smells yucky, but I never was all that crazy about garlic. The point is, it’s not kryptonite to me anymore. No wonder you’re worried enough to have forgotten to keep up your act, comrade,” I added, taking another step toward him.