Page 14 of Fanged Temptation

Something eased in my chest, a weight sliding away.

“Great!” My voice came out overly chipper, nigh on squeaky. “Where should I meet you?”

She gave me the name of a café near the mall, and I hummed my confirmation. “See you soon?” I asked, doing my best to sound casual.

“Yeah…” She sounded hesitant. Almost suspicious, but there was a hopeful chime in her farewell. “See you soon.”

7

Maxine

Brookfield Place was everything I adored in a shopping destination – grandiose, glitzy, and unapologetically indulgent. Soft light filtered in from the soaring glass atrium overhead, a lovely outdoor illusion as I hauled Leah through one of the most luxurious malls in the city. My heels clicked on polished marble floors that gleamed beneath our feet, each step a crisp echo.

Designer boutiques lined the corridors, immaculate displays flaunting handbags, shoes, and clothes of the highest exclusivity. Every detail of the mall was carefully curated, from the elegant black-and-gold signage to the sculptural light fixtures that cast a warm, flattering glow on anyone lucky enough to bask beneath them.

The acrid scent of espresso and fluffy wafts of fresh pastries beckoned from an artisanal café nearby, mingling with the faint hint of leather and designer perfume. I felt at home here, among the stylish shoppers and the soft murmur of wealth exchanging hands.

Leah, however, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

I cast a glance over my shoulder to where she trailed behind me, her arms folded and her face contorted in barely concealed disapproval. She stood out here; practical boots coming apart at the seams and her frayed corduroy jacket a stark contrast to the tailored suits and skirts of the strangers milling around us.

With her bangs askew and her mouth open in a kind of aghast grimace, she looked like a fish out of water.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” I gestured to the sweeping staircase ahead of us that led to the mezzanine. Beyond it, the Hudson River winked and glinted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bobbing gently in the marina.

“Impressive is one word for it.” Leah wrinkled her nose, glancing at the nearest storefront, where a mannequin in a sequined gown shimmered like a disco ball. “Intimidating is another.”

Itskedat her comment, looping my arm through hers despite her initial resistance. “Relax. You’re with me. And we’re only window shopping – for now.”

“Window shopping?” she echoed, arching an eyebrow as her gaze flicked to the price tag on a pair of boots in the display beside us. “I don’t think my wallet can even afford tolookat this stuff.”

“Ugh.Unclench. I’m not asking you to buy anything.” I hooked a left and tugged her into a boutique, marveling at the crystal chandelier hovering over our heads. “Look at that, how gorgeous?”

Leah stomped along beside me, grumbling something incoherent about overpriced footwear and absurdly tiny handbags.

The boutique was lovely, and I itched to run my fingers over every strip of fabric, every embroidered slipper and shiny clasp purse. I drifted over to a tailored coat on display, beckoning me with that subtle blue sheen, luxury in every softswish. I flippedthe tag over and scanned the composition: 70% wool, 20% cashmere, 10% nylon.

Good blend. I mused over it, my mind ticking through the pros and cons I knew by heart. Wool for warmth and elasticity, cashmere for softness, nylon for durability. It was a trifecta of practicality and indulgence, though the shoulders could use reinforcement if someone actually planned to wear it often.

My gaze shifted to a nearby stack of sweaters, and my hand paused over a thick, ribbed turtleneck in a soft beige. 100% wool.Classic, but you’d better learn to darn those elbows if you want them to last.

“Do you actually know what all that means, or are you just pretending?” Leah’s voice cut through my calculations. She gestured vaguely toward the sweater. “The tags. The fibers. All that.”

I tossed my curls, indignant. “Of course I know. Youhaveto know exactly what you’re buying. Wool, for example – it’s wonderful, but don’t ever throw it in a dryer unless you want it to shrink into a dog sweater. And polyester? Avoid it like the plague unless you want to contribute to microplastics in the water systems.”

Despite the judgment in her raised brow, Leah’s eyes darted about, taking in the glitz and glamor. She wouldn’t admit it, but some part of her had to have been intrigued. I turned my attention back to the rack. This – this was why I loved shopping. To immerse myself in details that felt concrete, controllable. The fibers, the stitching, the craftsmanship of each garment.

While I shopped and Leah sulked, my mind muddled over her desire to tag along, her sudden phone call out of the blue.

She hadn’t mentioned our tense conversation at the aquarium and I was hesitant to bring it up, unwilling to rehash what had already been covered. She was angry, and that was fair.I was the one who disappeared. And she wanted answers which was… also fair. But the truth was something I could not give her.

So we were at an impasse, tip-toeing around the elephant in the room.

I could not tell her of my vampiric nature or the Leyore coven. I could not explain why I left. And I certainly could not tell her that my family would never have approved of my friendship with Leah, or with any human, for that matter. To them, humans were food, a resource to be used, not bonds to be cherished.

That was why I kept her away from them. Why I kept her a secret.

Leah stopped at one of the racks I was sifting through and picked up a blouse, squinting at the price tag like it might bite her.

---