Page 103 of Bite Marks

“There’s this hole-in-the-wall Pho spot not far from the club. Just don’t look at any of the flat surfaces too long.”

“Sounds like a biohazard.”

“But also delicious.”

She rolled her eyes, swinging our hands.

“Lead the way, Dana. Whatever you want.”

“I’m afraid the soup won’t be enough then,” I sighed, ushering her toward the door.

“Um, do you want something else?”

“Yeah,” I answered with a mischievous grin. “A deluxe special soup with extra basil and bean sprouts and you for dessert.”

Vi’s laugh followed us out the door as I held it for her and she stopped to kiss my cheek.

“You’re on.”

vi

. . .

“Didyou catch the smug look on Todd's face when you kissed me?” I asked, sipping my latte as O’s glowing neon sign came into view.

It was unseasonably warm, invoking the very first whispers of a not-so-far-away spring. I’d left my coat unbuttoned, the little black dress I’d tossed on for work clinging to my hips and chest invitingly.

A view that my vampiric counterpart didn’t miss, since Ren’s gaze was firmly resting on my collarbone.

I cleared my throat, and she started, laughing awkwardly at her obvious distraction.

“He’s lucky all we were doing was kissing.” She jostled the little cardboard tray of coffees in her hands to one side, her arm falling over my shoulders to bring me close. “I have such a weakness for beautiful women, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned.” I laughed, leaning up to press a kiss against the vampire’s jaw that left behind a smudge of pinky lip gloss.

Her long lashes framed a pair of deep, almond-shaped eyes. The perfect complement to high cheekbones and full, lush lips that I just wanted to?—

And like she read my mind, Ren leaned forward, stealing a swift kiss.

“Stop looking at me like that. Elsie’s been waiting on pins and needles to see you and will pout if we’re late because we stopped to make out in an alley. Besides, what kind of example is that to set for Cole? Can’t bitch at him about tardiness if I’m late too.”

I huffed, my hopes of a few stolen moments tucked between high rises dashed as we crossed the street toward O.

Nick was already waiting outside, leaning against the stone facade of the building as we approached, dorky knitted cap pulled down over his ears.

“Striker,” he called, adjusting to stand up straight and taking off his hat in one motion, making his sandy brown hair stand on end. “How’re you doing?”

I fought the urge to wince. Realistically, I’d prepared for this.Practiced what to do with my face in the mirror all morning as I patted people’s hands and told themI’m fine!orIt happens!But something about the first round of worrying coming from Nick threw me off kilter.

I hadn’t been ready for the usually stoic doorman to seem so… bashful.

“I’m okay,” I said a little stiffly. “Have a good week?”

“It was alright,” he returned, not dissuaded by my poor attempt at redirecting conversation at all. “Listen, about Valentine’s Day?—”

“Nick,” Ren interrupted. “Let it?—”

“No, Ren,” he said firmly, taking one of my hands in two of the massive dustbin lid-sized hams he called fists. His rusty brown eyes reflected the neon from the sign, turning them scarlet. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

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