Page 30 of Don't Bite The Boss
“We killed five, you killed two,” I shake my head to clear it and gasp hoarsely, “are there more?”
“Well no, I killed another in the back of the plane. I’m pretty sure that is all of them then – I knew you would save me.”
“Huh,” I shake my head as we prepare to descend the stairs, leaning on one another, his own wounds not unsubstantial, but certainly not as serious as mine. “Seems like we saved one another.”
“It’s what we do,” he murmurs, gasping, as his eyes adjust to the light and he sees Valerie’s still form.
“She’s OK,” I murmur, limping down the last stair and crossing to the girl just as she sits up.
“That was not cool,” she says, frowning as she puts both hands over her chest and they sink in slightly, “not cool at all.”
I estimate we are about ten to twelve kilometres away from the plane, heading towards Tristan’s boat along the back roads when he speaks.
“I knew you would save me.”
“So you said, but I don’t know how you could possibly know that,” I mumble into my legs – curling up seems to ease the pain in my stomach. “I haven’t seen you for six months, not since you pissed off to sea.”
“I had to get away, I wasn’t ready, ready for, for this. But I knew, I’ve known for months. Even before Fleur left, I knew.”
He’s rambling, my stomach hurts, my leg hurts, my throat aches.
‘Who could possibly be ready for an attack by an evil army of fucking vampires?’
I raise my head from where I have it resting on my knees.
“Knew what?” I sigh, “what are you talking about?”
He is staring out the window as he talks, and I have to strain to hear his words.
“That even when I was in France, with her, I was more often than not thinking about coming home, coming home to…”
“Tristan?” I lean over and grip his jaw in my hand, turn his face to me, “finish a goddamned sentence, please, I’m not in the mood for riddles. Coming home to what?”
“To you,” he murmurs.
I scan his eyes, searching for answers. Despite all the pain I am in, being this close to him makes me quicken all over, and, without thinking it through, I pull his face to me and press my lips to his.
He stays still, momentarily, before wrapping his arms around my mostly-broken body and pulling me to his chest as the kiss deepens.
His mouth tastes like blood and whisky, and him.
All my hurts seem to momentarily ease, all my fear and anxiety and desolation at the thought of his death at the hands of Solomon are released, as his lips explore mine, first gently, then with more force, and my desire for him takes over.
I groan and pull away as he squeezes me too tightly.
“Oh, God,” he says, looking at me with concern, “are you alright?”
“I’ll heal,” I give him a half-smile before laying my head back down upon my knees. The pain begins to dissipate. Facedown I can also hide my fangs, which ran out the moment I smelled his breath on my face, his blood on his clothes – tasted him.
‘God, even now, I want to suck his blood. What the fuck is wrong with me?’
I let out another small groan as the car hits a pothole and pain shoots through my body.
“Sorry, sorry,” Valerie calls from the front seat, “It’s only the second time I’ve ever driven.”
“What?’
“Christ, when was the first?” I mutter.
