Page 21 of Fangs for the Memories
I can’t look away as the wood splinters. Then, as quickly as they appeared, the claws are gone, and his fingers are back to normal.
The gouges, however, remain. And they’re deep.
“This is not how I wanted things to be,” Ferenc says quietly.
“Oh, really? This is exactly how I thought my day would pan out,” I respond. “Breakfast, cave tour, being held captive with a werewolf by vampires.”
“I promised myself yesterday would be the last night you slept alone.” Ferenc looks over at the bed. “But this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
I look at him. He’s deadly serious.
Which is when I burst out laughing. Once I start, I’m honestly not sure I can stop. I’ve been locked in a room by vampires with an alpha mafia werewolf who bought the hotel I’m staying in so I don’t sleep alone?
The very idea sends me spiraling. At least until a pair of strong arms are wrapped around me and I’m inhaling a delicious citrus scent which can only be Ferenc.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t initiate anything. He is simply there, warm, fragrant, solid.
Not a monster.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I’ve had a hard time lately.”
“You don’t say,” he rumbles quietly.
“My fiancé ran off with his secretary.” The words spill out of me like water from an overflowing jug. “A week before our wedding. This was supposed to be our honeymoon.”
Ferenc is quiet. My mind wanders back to our kiss. I’m absolutely certain I’ve blown any chance with him I might have had.
“And you came to my country anyway?” he says eventually. “Then perhaps it is fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“You should. Humans didn’t believe in monsters, but we exist.”
“I believe you make your own fate,” I say.
But I’m not sure I do anymore. I want to be in control of my destiny, but right now, there is no control, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next.
I certainly didn’t expect the door to our cell to explode inwards in a shower of splinters.
Ferenc
Imanage to cover Grace’s body with mine as the door fires inwards. Once the initial blast is done, I spot Viktor’s stony face gazing in at us.
“What have I told you about going into vampire lairs?” he rumbles. “Without permission.”
Grace looks at me with her mouth open.
“Is that a…gargoyle?” she half-whispers.
“I am indeed a gargoyle.” Viktor forces himself through the doorframe. “And the one tasked with protecting the idiot werewolf next to you.”
I snarl at him. He holds out a hand to Grace.
“Viktor Hunyadi,” he says. “Pleased to meet you.”
I snarl even more. “She is English,” I say in Hungarian. “She speaks only the pleasantries. She doesn’t understand you.”
“Grace Spencer.” Grace extends her hand to him, and he shakes it solemnly.
