Page 20 of Hot for Slayer
That’s the problem, I think. After a while on this earth, one rarely experiences new sensations. But nothing has ever felt as good as Lazlo’s leg slipping between mine and pinning me to the wall. As the warmth of his hands closing around my lower back and my nape to turn me into him. As his tongue sliding against mine with no hesitation.
Ican’tmake us stop. Instead, I reach up, fist his shirt, and deepen the kiss. I press myself to his body and listen to the faint, pleased groan he lets out. I rub my core against the meat of his thigh while his breath hitches inside my ear, and he says, “Ethel.”
It’s not my real name. Not the one the real Lazlo, the Lazlo who remembers, likes to use. And that, at last, is the bucket of ice I need.
I push him away, both my hands against his rib cage. He stumbles backward, breathing fast, his expression half delighted, half outraged.
Shit.
“No, I— No.” I shake my head. “This is wrong. I can’t do this to you.”
He frowns. “You don’t need to do anything.Ido things. Toyou.”
“You—” I want to bury my face in my hands. “You don’t even know whoIam. You don’t remember whoyouare. This is— I am basically deceiving you, and—”
“I know that. You are odd. And a terrible liar, and not good at being secretive. But I don’t care.”
“Well, youshouldcare. You cannot consent to being with someone who hasn’t been open with you about their identity, and—”
“There is nothing that I could discover about you, or about myself, that would make me want to do this any less.” His tone is arrogant and self-assured, and brooks no argument.
I hate it.
Sadly, I could see myself loving it.
He steps closer once again. “I know we have done this before, Ethel.”
“No. No, we haven’t. How do you even ...?”
“I know your smell. I know your skin. Your hair. It’s all familiar. I have it all memorized. And I dream of you—of this. So many dreams, all so different, we must have done it a million times, in a million different ways. Tell me what you’re hiding from me, let’s get this over with, and then let’s do it a million more times.” He stops when a masked man trips drunkenly inside our alleyway. “Not now,” he orders the intruder before turning back to me.
“Actually, sir,” I say, shrill, panicky, eager to end the conversation, “this place is all yours. My friend and I were just getting ready to go our separate ways.”
Lazlo rolls his eyes, but the man in the Edward Cullen mask nods his thanks and walks closer.
And that’s when something starts nagging at me. There’s an odd familiarity to his gait. To the grace of his movements. To the speed of—
“It’s you,” I whisper.
I barely have time to shove Lazlo out of the way before the vampire who tried to kill me two nights ago attacks me again.
Chapter 10
Imay have been a little overoptimistic about the death of Teenage Dirtbag Vampire. In that sense, the Halloween crowd is both a blessing and a curse.
On the one hand, the loud music and festive atmosphere are noisy enough to cover the sounds of our fight, which guarantees that people won’t interfere and accidentally get themselves torn to pieces. On the other, it means that I’m on my own. A problem, since despite my first impression of him, the vampire trying to kill me is very,verystrong.
When we met before, in Central Park, he must have been injured. Or starving. He has now recovered, and his assault is becoming harder and harder to fend off. He attacks me silently, precisely, with none of the sloppiness of two nights ago. He’s not of my bloodline, but with power like this, I have to scrap my Teenage Dirtbag assessment and admit that he has to be at least as old as I am.
We arethatevenly matched.
I stab at him with my dagger and try to overpower him once and for all, letting out a frustrated grunt when he disarms me. A group of teenagers walk past the mouth of the alleyway, glance at the struggling outline of our bodies, and let out lewd, suggestive noises. “Get a fucking room, losers!”
It may look like we’re making out, but I just want to get the vampire off me and go check on Lazlo, who hasn’t gotten up since I shoved him against the wall.
I put all my might behind a powerful push and manage to throw Adult Dirtbag inside a dumpster. When he doesn’t immediately reemerge, I take a second to run to Lazlo and kneel at his side, pushing back the hair on his brow.
He is unconscious, and my stomach drops. I know he can’t die, not from this. But he could forget even more. His brain is clearly susceptible to ... anything, really, and my stomach tightens with worry and regret and something that feels a lot like desperation. “Are you okay?” I shake him to no avail. “Lazlo? I—”
