Fangs

by Anna Katmore

  Quentin opens his arms so that I can straddle him and then slackly loops them around me. I put mine around his neck and rest them easily on his shoulders. Tilting my head to one side, I throw back my hair, exposing my throat to him. And wait.

  “Abby…?”

  “Hmm?”

  He doesn’t move, just smiles at me with that mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Aaabbyyy…”

  “What?” I grunt. And then something inside my head feels like a blanket being drawn from my brain. I stiffen right where I am—in Quentin’s freaking lap, offering my neck! “What the hell?”

  He waggles his eyebrows at me, still keeping me in a loose hug. “Good spell, huh?”

  The first thought that swamps me is how I was in a very similar position with him not long ago—and how intimate it felt. This is close. We’re close. The warmth of him seeps into me. “Better than the bat one for sure,” I answer, suddenly a little breathless. “Did you call me over here to drink from me?”

  “No. I had my fair share of you the other night.” A gorgeous smile plays on his lips. He looks at me from under those long lashes as he leans just an inch forward and our brows touch. “And you know that I promised not to take advantage of you…ever. Speaking of that,” he says in a slightly lower voice, “I never said thank you for volunteering. That must have cost you.”

  I return the smile. “You’re welcome.” It would probably be best to get off of him now. But I can’t, and it’s not because of a hypnotic bond holding me captive. Or maybe, it’s exactly that. Leaving my arms where they are, I gaze into his eyes. “And it wasn’t actually that bad…”

  Quentin wrinkles his nose in a sweet tease. “Yeah, I had the feeling that you quite liked it.” His fingers stroke my back, and his face softens. “Would you let me do it again?”

  I cannot deny the little bats that started to flap around in my stomach ever since I awakened in his lap. They get more excited with every passing second. And the intimacy of the feeding last night down in the hall still has me in a dreamy hangover. But volunteering for another blood snack? I sigh. “I don’t think so.”

  It’s just so unnatural that I doubt I could do it again—unless the situation was dire.

  Finally sliding off Quentin’s legs, I stand up and head over to Sabretooth on the bed. “Anyway, you seem quite capable of fending for yourself now. You know the trick. Go out and catch yourself a meal.”

  He casts me a grin over his shoulder. “Will you come with me?”

  I laugh. “And watch you guzzle some innocent people?”

  “You already know it doesn’t feel bad for them. Besides, you can cover your eyes with your hands if you don’t want to see it.” He sticks out his tongue, and it’s the look that finally sways me.

  “All right, I’ll come. But I might have to sneak out when my grandma is asleep.”

  “Are you grounded?”

  “No. After Trayan’s visit this morning, she’s afraid to let me out after dark.”

  He nods but remains thoughtfully silent. Then he gets up and joins me on the bed by the cat.

  I let him practice with me some more, but when he makes me do a handstand against the wall, I know it’s time to go home. Lunch will be ready soon, and I definitely prefer homemade lasagna to sharing Quentin’s midnight snack later.

  “Go get some sleep while the sun is still up,” I command with my finger pointed toward the bed. “You can pick me up after ten. Nana always goes to bed early.” Unless it’s Wednesday, then she plays cards with her friends all night.

  Quentin sees me down to the hall but keeps a safe distance from the door that lets in a slanting beam of sunlight as I slip out. I wave quickly and then enjoy the warm sun on my face after spending the past few hours in the bat cave.

  Chapter 23

  You going to eat thaaat?

  Abigail

  Nana snores on the couch after lunch. It’s cute how she always finds an hour in the day to nap, and how her lower lip quivers with every noisy inhale.

  While she dozes, I use the opportunity to slip my hand into the pocket of her apron, which hangs over the chair. Coming down from Castle Dracula, I decided not to ignore the dangers of a possible Scottish werewolf in the neighborhood but do some investigating instead. The dog whistle is all I need.

  Heck, that pocket is deep. It doesn’t look that huge from the outside. Half of my forearm fits in there. At the bottom is my little silver buddy, and I sneak it into my jeans’ pocket. Then I tiptoe outside and quietly shut the door behind me.

  I head down the road to Rosemarie’s house, but instead of buzzing her doorbell, I keep a little distance and duck behind a line of bushes opposite the cottage. I would have much rather preferred to hide behind the thick birch in front of their neighbor’s house, but there’s a giant camper van parked outside that blocks my view.

  It doesn’t matter. The bushes will do. All I need now is for Trayan to come into the garden, then we can give this little magic whistle a try.

  Rosemarie’s aunt Emily hangs up the washing on a clothesline. She’s the only one outside for what feels like the entire afternoon, and my enthusiasm wanes with every passing minute. Not to mention, I feel like a peeping Tom. The sun burns my back, and my eyelids grow heavy after a while. Tipping against the bush, I envy Nana her couch. But then voices in the garden make my head jerk up.

  Rosemarie, feeding the geese. Dang, wrong person. Come on, Trayan, where are you? My gaze stays trained on the front door of the yellow cottage until the person I’m waiting for finally appears. A creepy excitement kicks in. I got you now, wolf.

  Trayan holds out a wireless phone to Emily, who takes it and disappears inside. I wait another moment to make sure he doesn’t follow her. With his arms folded, he leans in the doorway and studies Rosemarie by the geese enclosure bending over the fence and stroking Blackfoot. He seems to enjoy watching her because there’s a gentle smile on his face. Eventually, he comes away from the house and heads in her direction. They’re too far away for me to hear what they say, but for once they don’t look like they’re arguing. Rosemarie even laughs, probably about some joke he made.

  Here’s my chance. I lift the whistle to my lips and give it a hard blow. The thing makes no sound at all, but Trayan and Rosemarie wince simultaneously—and me, too—because someone honks the horn of the camping van, and it feels like my head explodes from the shock of the noise.

  Hoooooot. Hoot. Hoot. Hooooot.

  Dimitri Velkan shouts something in Romanian toward the house, his hand on the dashboard of the van. Then he beeps again, and I clap my palms over my ears.

  After he’s finally done torturing the neighborhood, I expel a calming breath. Boy, my heart still races, and I press a hand to my chest. Then I zero in on the geese enclosure, lifting the whistle to my mouth for a second try—but Rosemarie and Trayan are no longer there.

  What? No! My gaze sweeps across the garden. It’s empty. All I see is the front door closing. My chance to out Trayan as the wolf is gone. Dammit!

  They probably won’t come out again anytime soon, and since all my bones feel rusted from squatting here so long, I crawl away and stretch myself toward the sky before I head back home. Mission aborted.

  *

  As the sun leisurely lowers behind the mountains, my heart starts to drum a nervous beat. It won’t be long until Quentin picks me up for our moonlight dinner. The menu is certainly disputable, and I’ll gladly pass, but it seemed important to him that I come along for his first live food hunt. I couldn’t say no. And I’m a little curious, too, to be honest.

  It’s fully dark outside when Nana shouts her goodnights up to me, and her door clicks shut moments later. I give her fifteen minutes of a head start into the land of dreams before I tiptoe downstairs, past her bedroom, and outside. Just in case, the anti-wolf instrument is clasped tightly in my fist.

  Silent darkness covers the garden. With an eerie feeling in my stomach, I lift the whistle to my lips. I told Quentin to pick me up after ten. It�
��s already half past, so I wonder what’s keeping him. I turn around—yikes! He leans against the wall next to the door, one leg angled, his attention on stroking Sabretooth. “Jesus Christ!” I press a hand to my chest, expelling a gasp. “You scared the crap outta me. I almost blew the whistle.”

  Quentin just grins, slowly glancing up from the kitten in his arms. “You took your time coming out, Miss Potts.” He bends down and lets Saby run. The tiger cat scampers along the house straight into the shed through the tiny hole in the laths.

  “Why did you bring him back?” I murmur, watching the kitten as I pocket the whistle.

  “I think he’s homesick. And he shouldn’t be away from his mommy for too long.” Quentin shrugs it off, but the melancholy gleam in his eyes makes me think that he isn’t ready to say goodbye to his furry buddy. He clears his throat and then fetches his phone from his jeans’ pocket. “Anyway…could you charge this for me again? The battery died this afternoon, and it’s really quiet in the castle without you. And music.”

  It’s nice that he said that. I take his phone and then notice the broken display. “What did you do to the poor thing? Use it as a teether?”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  I giggle at his cute expression, but then I sneak back into my room to plug in the phone and let it charge. This way, he can take it home with him when we come back from town.

  “Does it still function even with the damage?” I ask him with just a little less banter in my voice as we head off.

  “No calls, no messages, no internet,” he groans. “The only thing really working is the saved music I have on it. And just so you know”—he levels me with a playful scowl—“it slipped through my fingers and broke on the floor the night you found me half-dead. I don’t usually suck on electronics.” Quentin inches closer and waggles his eyebrows. “Delicious girls are more my thing.”

  “So I’m your thing now, huh?” I laugh.

  “Totally. And since I finally know how to get into your mind, all the better.”

  I skip ahead of him and then walk a couple of steps backward, stabbing my finger into his chest. “If you make me do anything stupid tonight, you’ll find yourself in a bed of garlic next time you wake up with a stake in your thigh.”

  “Still don’t trust me, little warrior?” With a sweet smile, he takes my hand and pulls me back to his side. “I thought the fact that I chose to go into a coma rather than bite you against your will would have earned me some brownie points.”

  It did. I grin back. It’s true, I do trust him. He won’t make me do a handstand against the wall in town. Or strip.

  “What did connecting with my mind feel like anyway?” I want to know as we reach the empty main street and amble down the pavement under the street lamps.

  “I don’t know.” His forehead creases into thoughtful lines. “It felt…purple.”

  “Now that’s some sort of description,” I reply dryly.

  A silent moment passes, and then I pirouette on the sidewalk. Jeez! I didn’t do that on my own, so I turn to Quentin and cock a brow as I walk straight again.

  “It’s really hard to explain,” he continues quietly as if he never broke his train of thought. He narrows his focus on the ground before us. “To get there, it’s almost like walking over a meadow. Barefoot. There’re purple flowers everywhere. Thousands of them.” He tilts his head to me. “Does that make any sense?”

  “Kind of…” I admit on a breath. Could it be he saw my personal safe place in my head? “It sounds beautiful.”

  Quentin smiles. “It is.” Suddenly, his gaze lights on something behind me, and he grabs my hand, hauling me across the street. “Come on. The buffet has just opened.”

  We’re heading toward a strawberry blond woman, mid-thirties I would guess, in a long, yellow coat and black pumps. She rummages for something in her clutch as she walks past the closed shops, her heels clacking on the pavement.

  “You want to eat thaaat!” I blurt the first thought that springs to me at seeing her. Looping my arm through his, I steer him past her and down the sidewalk.

  “Why not?” he whines.

  My jaw hardens. I have to pull Quentin rather aggressively because he’s reluctant and keeps looking over his shoulder. “You don’t pick the first food you can grab at a buffet.” Forcefully clearing my throat, I unclench my teeth. That my heart is in such an uproar feels strange. I calm myself with a deep breath and then state with a confident smile, “Look around. You’ll find someone better.”

  When he finally eases into my pull, I stop dragging him and let go of his arm. We wander around town, passing some men that he doesn’t seem interested in at all until we find two pretty girls chatting in the empty parking lot of a supermarket. They both look nice, carrying backpacks, appearing like students who are saying goodbye after studying together.

  “You were right.” Quentin grins, slowing down to a prowl. “They’re better than the yellow lady.”

  I roll my eyes dramatically. “You can’t eat them, obviously.”

  “Obviously…” After my veto before, he stops now and turns to me. “Because?”

  “They come in a pack.”

  “Two is not a pack.”

  “Two is one too many. You cannot handle both.”

  A wicked smile curves his lips. “Wanna bet?”

  “No.” Period. Body-checking him, I change direction for us, crossing back to the other side of the street. Boy, doesn’t this town have a blood bank where Quentin can grab some takeaway? Blood suddenly seems a lot more palatable—no pun intended—if it comes in bags rather than beautiful women.

  “Abby…?”

  “What?” I snarl, refusing to look at him after hearing the pity in his voice. The fact that my stride has just become slightly more militant is absolutely irrelevant.

  “If it’s such a problem for you to go through this with me, I can take you home and then go out and feed alone.”

  “No. I’m fine,” I squeak. Shit. I force some coolness into my next words. “Not a problem at all. I just don’t want you becoming a vampire skank because you can’t wait to get your teeth into a neck.”

  “It’s almost midnight. There isn’t an endless supply of people out and about. If I want to feed, I have to do it soon.”

  “Be patient!” Jesus Christ, what is it with this vampire? He was abstinent for an entire week, but as soon as he knows how to hypnotize people into willing victims, he wants to eat them all.

  Quentin sighs. When we pass another woman walking a white Pekinese, I can feel him staring at me rather than at her. “No,” I simply tell him, moving on.

  No contradiction this time.

  We repeat the game with two more girls crossing our path, and the tension gradually eases from my spine. A man with a beard and a brown leather jacket, somewhere on the far side of fifty, exits a taxi and leans down to the open driver window to hand in some cash. “Now he looks like a yummy dinner,” I suggest with an encouraging smile on my face.

  Quentin does not take him into consideration, of course. Gah.

  We continue in silence, but the next second, I realize that he’s gone from my side and spin around. We’re entirely alone again in the street as he leans against the wall of an apartment building, arms folded and leveling me a piercing look. “What’s wrong, Abigail?”

  “Nothing,” I croak.

  “Bullshit.”

  Ugh. I scrunch up my face, wrapping my arms around myself. “It’s just— You shouldn’t—” My eyes dart around because it’s suddenly really hard to focus on Quentin. “It feels awkward knowing what you’re about to do with them. They aren’t the right ones for you.”

  My gaze settles on my toes until he lifts my chin and makes me look into his face. “But I have to bite someone in the end. You know this.”

  “Of course. And we’ll find the perfect guy for you,” I mumble inconspicuously.

  His eyes open a little wider anyway. “A man?”

  I wave it off. “Person.” Same differe
nce.

  “Abby, I’m getting really hungry.” At that moment, the door behind him opens, and a beauty with red hair and a black mini dress comes out. “And I think the sooner we get this over with, the better for you,” he tells me, sounding equally strict and gentle as he pushes away from the wall and steps in the woman’s way. She smiles at him.

  I harrumph.

  When her initial friendly expression ebbs into a blank gaze, I know that he’s connected with her mind, and the next thing she’ll do is offer her throat to him.

  A flood of panic coaxes my gasp, and I storm between them, grabbing Quentin’s forearms, preventing him from touching her. “Wait! You can’t!”

  Immediately, the friendly look returns to the woman’s face as she snaps out of his mental hold. She says something in Romanian to us and then heads off the other way.

  “What”—Quentin nails me with a reproachful glare, dragging out every single word—“was wrong with that one?”

  I ignore his frustration and just walk on. “Well, look at her. She’s clearly coming from a date or dinner party or something, and she could be totally drunk. Pumped up with drugs even. Do you really want to drink spoiled blood?”

  Quentin glances back at her over his shoulder. “Drugged?” he drawls.

  “Yes.” I reach for his chin and turn his head forward again. Damn, could this night already be over?

  “I wonder if you saved me the other night only to let me starve now,” he grumbles.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I do that?” I snap.

  He casts me a long, sideways glance that makes my cheeks burn with a strange heat. “Right. Why…?”

  Whatever he thinks is the reason, he’s wrong. I clench my teeth and stare straight ahead.

  Some fifty feet away, a man in a business suit rounds the corner. It’s probably a waste of my breath to pitch him to Quentin, so I don’t.

  With a fast stride, the man reaches for the dark gray tie around his neck and loosens it. As he passes us, he pulls it off and hands it over to Quentin without a word or even a second glance. “Thanks,” Quentin says, moving on as if nothing whatsoever just happened.