Fangs

by Anna Katmore

  He comes forward again, making a small stop at the chair to grab the umbrella and push it into my hands. I believe he’s going to show me to the door. Yet he startles me when he asks, “Would you mind staying just a little bit longer? Please.” And only then I understand that he’s not throwing me out but giving me a weapon for as long as I’m here.

  He’s proven that he still has control over his instincts, and I already showed what an utterly hopeless case I am where this pitiful vampire is concerned. So, I steady my spine with another deep inhale and put the umbrella aside. “Sure. I have all afternoon.”

  At the happy gleam in his eyes, we share a smile, but it’s wiped off my face when something behind his neck issues a tiny sound. A…meow?

  His face freezes. I frown. “What was that?”

  “Nothing!” Sure. And the shocked expression is just because I’m not running away screaming from this place—which, I actually should.

  The sound comes again. From inside the hood of his white sweatshirt. “Quentin?” I growl, striding toward him, but the mischief-maker backs away.

  “No. You cannot take Saby away from me,” he whines, making my heart twinge.

  “Saby?”

  “Sabretooth.” Quentin pouts.

  My face in a puzzled grimace, I grab his arm and turn him around, then reach into the hood. Goodness, there’s a kitten nestled in there. I take the tiny tiger out and press him to my chest, scowling at Quentin. “What are you doing? Playing the kangaroo cat mama?”

  “He’s the only one I have here for company when you’re gone.”

  Outraged, I lower to the chair and stroke the kitten’s back. “Did you actually steal him when we sat in the garden?”

  “He actually wanted to come with me. He likes sleeping in my pockets.”

  Granted, I saw that myself, but I didn’t believe Quentin would take him away. Nevertheless, my expression softens, and I expel a sigh. “You can’t keep him here. He’s so little. He still needs his mother. He needs milk.”

  “I fed him.” Sulking, he takes the tiger off my lap and heads upstairs with him. I hurry to follow. “He’s got everything he needs in my room.”

  In the master bedroom, another fire burns, warming the place. I know the huge bed near the far wall, but the sheets seem a lot cleaner and brighter than when I saw them last. Quentin really made this a homey place. As much as an old, creepy castle can be anyway.

  He puts the kitten down, and it scampers straight to the bowl beside the bed.

  “Where did you get that from?” I demand, brows raised, my voice pitching up in wonder. “Did you break into a supermarket after dark?”

  “No.” Offended, he glares at me over his shoulder as he caresses the cat on the floor, and a grin curves my mouth. “I went out for a brief walk last night and found this cow farm down the road.”

  He must mean the Olson farm. I slump onto the bed with deep red sheets, dragging my feet under my bottom. “You milked a cow?”

  “I tried.” Leaving the cat alone, he sits beside me. “I must have taken the only broken cow in that stable because no milk came out of those…things.”

  “You call it an udder.” I laugh, remembering how long it took Nana to teach me how to milk the goats. “How did you get the milk then?”

  Quentin reclines, head sinking into the pillow. He lays one arm over his eyes. “Thankfully, they have cats, too. I stole their bowl for Saby.”

  My gaze lingers on the strange boy. I don’t know why, but his explanation warms my heart. I scoot up and lie down on my front, head tilted to his side. Quentin moves his arm up a little and spies at me, a lopsided grin creeping to his lips. “You do realize that you just climbed into bed with a vampire, right?”

  “Stop being silly.” Giggling, I shove against his shoulder. “Anyway, if you’re going to snap again, I’ve got a vicious tiger here to protect me from you.” As if on cue, Saby comes climbing onto the mattress, driving his small claws into the sheets. He traipses over my legs and onto Quentin, who rolls to his side and rubs the kitten under his chin until he purrs.

  “Vicious, huh?” He smiles lovingly at the cat. Then his lids fall shut for a moment. “Damn, I’m so tired…”

  “Then sleep now. It’s still a few hours until nightfall. I can leave if you want.”

  “No!” His eyes snap open again. “As soon as it’s silent, the voices will return.” He pleads with me across the single foot of distance separating us as we share the same pillow. “I can’t bear this any longer.”

  He looks so torn. I wish I could do something for him. With a deep sigh, I sit up and lean against the headboard. He doesn’t move, but his wary gaze follows me. I give him a confident smile. “Okay, then let’s just talk for a while and keep the voices away.”

  The panic eases from his face, though he doesn’t seem to fully trust my method yet. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Don’t know.” I shrug and lace my fingers over my belly. “You could tell me a little more about those special vampire traits. In fact, after our last chat, I have a ton of questions.”

  He focuses on Sabretooth again, who can’t seem to get enough of Quentin’s strokes. “Ask away.”

  “Okay…so…what’s the trick to change or not change a person into a vampire when you bite them? I figure you’re not just infecting people with your vampire saliva or something.”

  A soft laugh rocks his chest. “No, I don’t usually bring the disease to my donors. If I bite you and just drink, nothing happens. If I bite you and suck you dry, you would die. To change you, I’d have to give you my blood before you pass out.” His eyes find me. “Not going to happen with you, I guess?”

  I fix him with a stern scowl. “Never. Ever.”

  “Just checking, little warrior.” He casts me a lopsided grin and winks.

  Right. As if I’d ever change my mind about that. Become a bloodsucker and sleep in a freaking coffin? Yuck! Shivers rush through me at the thought.

  “What’s up?” he demands, staring at the goosebumps on my forearm and brushing his fingertips across them.

  My gaze follows his move. “Nothing. Just wondering…” I murmur absently because his caress feels nice. Then I clear my throat and focus again. “Why do vampires keep those coffins? Is that a thing? Like to scare people?” I scrunch my face. “It’s really creepy, you know.”

  With closed eyes, he chuckles. “The coffin actually makes more sense than you think. In secure places, like at home, we don’t need it. But when a vampire is away from home, it’s wise to have one. When we sleep, we really die. No breathing, no heartbeat.”

  “Yeah, I got that just before our first kiss,” I snort.

  Quentin smiles up at me again. He looks as if he likes that particular memory. If I’m completely honest, I kinda like it, too.

  “So, if anyone finds us in our death sleep, they would likely move Heaven and Hell to resuscitate us.” Yeah, nice reminder of my panic when I found him. “Or they just bring us to the pathology lab where they cut our bodies open to find the cause of death. If they find us in a coffin, they expect us to be dead and will leave us alone.”

  “Or they bury you at the cemetery, and you never leave that coffin again.”

  He chuckles. “Or that, yes.”

  The little tiger stands up and rubs his face against Quentin’s chin. He has to tilt his head away not to get cat hair in his mouth. It’s lovely to watch. “Do I get a free question, too?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “What makes anyone—and I literally mean any person in the world, be it human or vampire—voluntarily come to this godforsaken castle?”

  I know that he doesn’t mean today, but the many times I was here in the past. “Are you kidding me? This was the best playground in all of Ardeal. My friend and I were thrilled to come to a place like this—so mysterious and far off anything we knew.” A little sigh escapes me, it almost sounds dreamy. “When I came up here alone, I often pretended that this was my dream castle and ther
e was a ball in the princess’s honor.”

  He chuckles. “Let me guess, you were the princess?”

  “Of course.” I grin down at him. “Lady Abigail of Norwich. I had no music, but I pretended an orchestra was playing just for me and my dancing partner—”

  “Count Dracula,” he deadpans.

  Laughing, I swat his upper arm. “Hey, don’t make fun of my romantic dreams! I’m not making fun of your bloody ones.”

  “Because secretly you wish Count Dracula had bitten you during that dance and made you his eternal bride,” he teases, suppressing a grin.

  “Me, being a vampire?” I think I’m getting sick. “All the things that one would have to give up for that particular lifestyle…” I gulp. “And then the things that could kill you.”

  “It’s really not as bad as you think. Most of the time…”

  Yeah. Most of the time. When you aren’t currently locked in a cold castle and slowly starving to death. Refusing to push him back to his misery, I start with another question instead. “So, wood and sunlight hurt you. And garlic makes you vomit.” I watch how the kitten climbs up his shoulder and then plants himself, spread-eagle, on Quentin’s head. Reaching out, I stroke the tiger’s back. “What about holy water?”

  “Ah, that shit burns like hell.”

  “Good to know,” I mumble, taking mental notes to actually get a bottle from the church tomorrow…just in case. “Does silver hurt you?”

  He shakes his head, the cat moving with the motion. “With silver, you can torture werewolves.”

  Ah, right, the other fantasy race that should have never made it past the cover of a horror book. “Have you ever met one?”

  “Couple of times. Annoying species. I don’t want to get too close. Their blood or bite is toxic.”

  “Does it kill you?”

  “Mm-hmm. Quick and painful death from what I hear.”

  Sounds like dying from the bite of a rattlesnake. Very unpleasant. A shudder slithers down my spine. “What powers do werewolves have exactly? Can they meddle with people’s minds, like vampires?”

  “No. Their power is more primeval, centered on the animal that they shift into. Wolf instincts.” His eyes are closed again. “They have heightened senses, too. Their hearing is even better than ours.” His voice drops a notch, sounding relaxed. “But most of the time, they behave very strangely and are overprotective.”

  My hand remains on the kitten’s back for a moment, when a strange thought pulls me under. Trayan behaved weirdly this afternoon. Actually, he’d given me the creeps during our first meeting, too. And Rosemarie ranted about him being so annoying…and looming. He definitely looked unhappy when we left for the woods. That would fit into the whole overprotective department, wouldn’t it? More, Trayan hasn’t been in Ardeal for too long yet. What if his arrival coincides with that of the wolf?

  The room is wrapped in silence. Chills race down my arms, and I hurry to rub them away.

  On the other hand, Trayan didn’t seem to be in a blood-frenzy. Quentin had said he was looking for a snapped wolf. And worrying about Rosemarie doesn’t make this Scot boy a lunatic. No, it’s all just a weird coincidence. It has to be. I should stop suspecting innocent tourists.

  But the strange feeling of our earlier conversation near Rosemarie’s fence haunts me. He seemed to know that something was off when he asked me about the castle. My toes curl inside my shoes.

  “Quentin?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How would a werewolf know when a person is lying?”

  “Same as vampires, I believe.” His yawn drifts up to me as I stare paralyzed at the open door. “They would pay attention to that person’s reaction. See their pupils dilating. Listen to their faster heartbeat.”

  I let that information sink in, and it doesn’t give me a good feeling.

  When I lift my hand for another caress of the cat’s fur several minutes later, the kitten is gone, and my fingers thread through Quentin’s soft hair instead. Shocked, I yank my hand away. Saby has slid off Quentin’s head and remained right where he hit the pillow.

  “No…don’t stop,” Quentin murmurs, fishing for my hand in his half-sleep, his face scrunching. When he catches my fingers, he runs his thumb over my knuckles. “It feels good. Please…”

  I draw in a quiet breath at his touch. Did the vampire really just ask me to stroke him to sleep?

  Carefully, I pull my hand out from under his and skim my fingertips across his temple. The hard lines in his forehead ease, and a deep sigh escapes him. He relaxes, and I stroke him a little more. The blond strands feel as soft as they look when I run my fingers through them. A sound close to a happy moan emerges from his throat.

  I smile.

  Then I scoot lower down the mattress and place my head on the pillow, facing him. His long, dark lashes rest peacefully against the tender skin beneath his eyes. The untroubled tilt at the corners of his closed mouth makes him look really beautiful. My fingers itch to follow the curve of his lips.

  For the first time in days, he appears as if his world just turned right again. I tunnel my fingers through his hair and then caress the back of his neck some more. Deep, even breaths through his nose stir the kitten’s fur. Then his hand slides over my free one, and his fingers wrap around mine tenderly as he murmurs in a barely audible voice, “Don’t go away, Abigail.”

  My heart melts. I let him interlace our fingers and whisper across the pillow, “Sleep now. I’m here.”

  Chapter 17

  Tofu for a vampire

  Quentin

  Beat.

  Pause.

  Beat, beat.

  Pause.

  I suck in a life-shattering gasp—or in my case, the one that brings me back to the living. The first breath after my death sleep always feels like it’s burning a hole in my lungs, but the pain wanes fast. I sit up, taking in where I am.

  The master bedroom.

  The blanket that has been draped over my body slides down to my waist. I flap it aside. A gentle fire lights the place. Everything in here smells of Abby—a beautiful, mouthwatering scent—but the being sleeping next to me on the pillow is a gray tiger kitten, not a girl.

  “Abigail?”

  Her name comes out gruffly because my fangs have shot down in response to the perfume of her beguiling blood type.

  I swing my legs out of bed and stand, but the floor feels like a bouncing castle. The world spins. I stumble and knock hard into the wall. At least there’s something to hold on to. Panting, I take a moment to steady myself, concentrating on my breaths. Inhale…exhale…don’t throw up. With my head leaning against my forearm and my main goal to keep standing, I notice the silence for the first time. Not just in the room, but inside my mind, too. The voices are gone. Sleep must have shut them up…or, Abigail took them with her when she left.

  It’s a damn relief to be the only one inside my head again, even if the cottony feeling in there is killing me. Making my way to the door, I groan and fight not to pass out. Holy bat shit, who put me on this carousel?

  My mouth is dry, my throat raspy, and my body feels hot as if I have a fever. Sweat beads on my forehead. Next to the chest, I stop and press my cheek against the cool, stone wall. Yeah, that helps…exactly nothing. “Fuck!” My vision blurs, and my knees wobble. The pit in my stomach feels as if it’s sucking all my organs into it. Man, I could eat an elephant right about now—

  Or its weight in humans.

  It takes a damn eternity to reach the door. Once there, I yank it open and shout into the hallway, “Abigail! Are you here?”

  Maybe I should give her fair warning not to answer if she is. I know I promised not to hurt her—especially not bite. But, God help me, if I don’t get a draught of blood into my system within the next few hours, I’m coming down on this village like the reaper.

  “Abby!” Where is my darling cookie?

  The echo of my voice bounces throughout the castle, and an ominous bleat hits back. Fucking cave of lamia, wa
s that her? A terrified shiver freezes me on the spot. Flashes of me gripping Abigail and ramming my canines deep into her throat come over me. Hard to say whether they’re real memories of last night or just wishful thinking.

  I battle toward the stairs and struggle to draw my fangs back in. Whatever I did to Abby, she better not see them now and freak out. But the damn things don’t go into hiding. As though they want to make sure we don’t waste another second as soon as we see prey. Right, not as long as I’m still master of my body. How long that’ll actually be, though, I have no idea.

  I need to use what time I have to find Abigail and help her—after whatever I did to her. Hell, what if I drained her of blood and then just left her downstairs to die? Panic makes me move faster, but it’s a damn struggle not to fall. I brace my hands against the wall with every shaky step. “Please, Abby! Hold on, I’m coming!”

  The air, as I near the stairway, becomes thick with something I have never smelled before. Is this the smell of a dying human? A nasty odor redolent of musk with an odd buttery note. It’s completely killed off Abigail’s naturally sweet scent. Christ, what did I do to her?

  I careen against the railing and lean over to search the hall for her, feeling like I’m going to throw up at any moment. That would be a bad idea, though, because something moves right beneath me. I strain to focus, and then a wave of relief rolls over me. Hairy, white—this isn’t Abigail. Whatever got into me in my ravenous appetite, I probably would have changed her into a vampire, not a goat.

  I pull myself forward, grabbing onto the rail as I practically tumble down the stairs. It’s a damn miracle I don’t land on my ass. Frowning, I draw closer to the stinking animal that’s lying on the stone floor and eating grass from a small stack that definitely wasn’t there when I went to bed. “Who the fuck are you?”