Page 23 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
HotMouth
I’m not too far away, I can come. Be there in five.
LordOfTheWin
You’d better be. I set a timer and everything.
Wesley hadn’t been joking.
When Vincent stumbled up the street, hunched forward with his hood pulled low against the sun, Wes already stood in his front yard with his phone ticking away, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He shouted and sprinted out to Vincent, wrapping an arm under his and helping him toward the safety of the dark house, its blinds lowered and curtains loosened.
Each step they took together, Vincent could smell Wes’s musk like an intoxicant, could smell his blood beneath it. His mouth went even drier as his fangs slipped free. He tried to pull them back, to swallow down his hunger and clench against the urge to bury his face into the scent, jaws open and teeth bared. But as they moved into the shade of the porch and the direct sunlight receded from Vincent’s mind, his whole world tightened to Wesley. The sound of his panting breath. The bead of sweat dripping down his neck. The bounce of his curls over such fragile skin. The pump of his blood, fast from the quickened beating of his heart.
Vincent lunged.
He slammed Wesley into the wall hard enough to thud. The shorter man resisted, and Vincent’s hands instinctively pinned his wrists, hip digging into Wes’s pelvis to hold him in place and one of his own legs tangling with one of Wesley’s to keep him from kicking out. Wesley made a noise that might have been Vincent’s name, but all Vincent got was the vibration of it, the low, taut sound rolling through Vincent like a physical ache. He shoved his head against Wesley’s jaw, forcing the man’s chin up and to the side to expose his neck; he could already feel the venom sliding down his fangs. Wesley went still, a tremble running through him.
There was a reason Vincent wasn’t supposed to do this. There was a really, really good reason, it was just so muddled by every cell of his body telling him that he should, that he needed this, that he was literally going to die without it. Without Wesley.
Wesley.
Oh fuck, Wesley.
Vincent’s instincts continued to flare, but his horror cut through them, turning his limbs to putty. A sob choked out of him as he slid down Wesley’s body. Wes caught him, half pulling him up, half dragging him toward the living room. But his neck was still too close, his blood still so hot and—
Vincent sprang away from him, stumbling the rest of the way to the couch where he collapsed, head tipped back and eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
He could feel the bob of Wesley’s throat from across the room, the little blip in his heartbeat. “You had warned me, so it’s my bad, really. Do you need me to leave? I can give you space.”
“No, I—I’m in control now, I swear.”
The scent of Wesley—of his blood pounding through him—grew stronger again, testing Vincent’s statement as the man approached. Wes looked nervous but almost eager, like a person on their first skydive, an adrenaline junky pushing his luck. As he flicked on the living room lamp, his brow tightened, his mouth falling open. “Ah fuck.”
He stopped in front of Vincent. His thick brows were tight, his full lips a little wrinkled, and the colorful beads of his wrapping bracelet shifted as he tucked back a loose curl. Hesitantly, he reached out his fingers after, as if without touching Vincent, he couldn’t be quite sure he was still alive. Strong fingers, stockier than Vincent’s and just as handsome as the rest of the man.
Vincent’s gaze snapped to the underside of Wes’s palm, his fangs still pressing obnoxiously against his lips. But he could restrain himself. He would restrain himself. After everything Wesley was doing for him it was the absolute least Vincent could offer in return.
Wesley’s fingers brushed Vincent’s cheek and Vincent’s heart caught in his chest. Then the touch was gone, withdrawn along with the rest of Wesley.
“The blood’s in the fridge, hold on,” he said, his gate a little lopsided as he moved through the dining area and turned out of sight.
Vincent relaxed, the edges of his hunger fading without Wesley there to antagonize him. His gaze wandered. The blue recliner had a fresh pile of laundry, and new mail had been added to the stack on the table, but otherwise the house hadn’t changed an inch. Beyond the generous offer of blood and the joy of seeing Wesley again, it was a relief just to be here, in this cozy space of four walls and few expectations.
“I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t just pin someone down. You’re strong enough,” Wes called from the kitchen, “Your bite might hurt them for a bit, but they’d get over it.”
Vincent couldn’t tell if the man’s tone was off, or if his perception was just tainted by the violent disgust that hit him at the mere suggestion. “Wesley.” It came out a little rough, a little weak. “I won’t hurt people like that.”
Wes reappeared around the corner with a medical bag of dark red liquid in his hands. “But you’re already breaking into their homes and taking their blood.”
“I know. And I hate that. I hate that I have todothat.” Vincent took the bag with a little nod, feeling far too nonchalant about it but not knowing how to say a properthank youwithout making it a whole scene.
He stared at the bag. His hunger fought with an entirely different twisting in his gut. Some human had produced this, bled this. Some other human was probably meant to receive it, to help save their life. Nowhere along the way had anyone wanted it in the mouth of a vampire. But here he was, starving and going to drink it anyway.
He cringed.
“But why do you do it, then?” Wes crossed his arms. “Why do you think youhaveto?”
“I don’t know how you got this, but…” With how very human Wes was, maybe he just had to walk up in the direct sunlight and ask. “I haven’t been able to afford bagged blood before. Since returning to San Salud, I haven’t even managed to find the dealers in the first place. The black-market blood community is around here somewhere, I’m sure—most vampires don’t like feeding straight from humans if they don’t have one who’s specifically theirs, so that’s where they get a lot of their blood from—but I don’t know where to look, not without revealing what I am. And I can’t just grab random people off the street likehey, I’m a vampire, I’m looking for bloodand not expect most of them to call the cops on me.”
