Page 26 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
He’d only drunk half the bag.
What did that mean? Half the amount of time asleep? Half the deepness of the sleep?
Wesley wanted to throw up. And stick his head in the freezer. And maybe undo all of this, all the way back to where he’d let this beautiful, kindhearted vampire into his life, and find some actually monstrous bloodsucker to trade for the proof that would burn Vitalis-Barron’s research facilities down.
“But if my existence starts hurting anyone but myself, then maybe I don’t deserve to exist at all.”
Damn him. Damn Vincent Barnes for being this good and damn himself, fucking Wesley Smith Garcia, for being this much of a shit to him.
But maybe he could do Vincent one better. If he could get inside Vitalis-Barron, he’d be trusted. He’d just have to find their research records. Wherever they cataloged and disposed of the humans that died during their studies would most likely be in the same place as the vampiric ones, hidden away so no one who hadn’t already sold their morals to the company would find it. Then, on his way out, he’d bring Vincent with him. An hour at most, that was all he needed, then Vincent would be free again. An hour, in exchange for a better future for vampires across the city.
It was only half a plan. But it was the soundest one he had.
Wes pressed his forehead to Vincent’s chest, his breath still ragged as he wrapped his fingers through the vampire’s limp ones, hands shaking and fluttering. “I’m going to get you out of this,” he whispered, sealing the feeling in words. “I wager my life that you’re going to keep yours.”
But in order to save Vincent, Wes had to give him to Vitalis-Barron first.
He stood, wobbling as he turned around once, then again. The car. He’d have to get Vincent into the car. Right now though, just staying on two feet seemed like an impossible task. He needed backup.
Wesley almost dropped his phone as he dragged it out of his back pocket, quickly flicking away the messages from Vincent before he could fixate too long on theI owe you one. Vincent absolutely didn’t owe Wes in any way, at all. He flicked to his favorite contacts. His thumb hovered over his mother’s number. If only he could call her. Could hear her bubbly Mexican accent and constant use of mangled movie quotes, and get her opinion on this. Would she want to be avenged if it meant someone else got hurt in the process?
He moved down one line and pressed Kendall’s number.
She answered on the second ring, a little low but questioning. “Hey dude, I’m at work.”
“Can you not be at work for like, ten minutes, por favor?” The Spanish slipped out as if it were his mother he was talking to after all, mangled a little by the American pronunciation he could never quite get rid of.
Wesley forgave Kendall for all her pushing and teasing as she instantly replied, “Yeah, of course. Heading for the bathroom now.” After a series of shuffling and a muted, “Sorry Matt, the toilet is calling me!” the soundscape changed from distant office drabble to the whirl of a background fan. “It’s a private stall, what’s up.”
“I drugged the vampire but now he’s on my couch. I know this isn’t what I implied I’d be signing up for but I guess I’m secretly a vampire hunter now.” For one day. And then he’d move on to researching them.
“So you need to get him to that pharmaceutical company?”
“Si—yes.”
“Wesley.” She took the kind of breath that came before a lecture. “This vampire is a person.”
“I know, but I’m doing this.” His voice cracked. He could feel his knees caving. “I need to do this. Please, I can’t explain now, but you have to trust me.” If only he trusted himself at the moment.
There was a long pause, followed by a sigh, before Kendall replied, “Alright. How can I help?”
“Just talk to me? Or let me talk to you, I don’t know.”
“Wesley Smith Garcia, I bet you ten bucks you can’t carry that fucked up vampire from your couch to your car.”
“Deal.”
Wesley got to work. With the speaker turned on, he slid his phone back into his pocket and stooped over Vincent. He tried to ignore the tight pain on the vampire’s face. His breathing seemed too shallow, and he whimpered slightly as Wesley fit an arm under his back and another under his legs. Despite the extra inches he had on Wesley, Vincent seemed to weigh about as much as a toothpick—a gangly toothpick with awkward legs and a neck that flopped back at an uncomfortable-looking angle. Wesley tried to reposition his hold on the vampire with a grunt. The shift brought Vincent’s head toward his, and the vampire curled into his embrace almost instinctively, slotting his face against Wesley’s neck.
Wes froze.
No fangs pricked his skin, just Vincent’s soft exhales. They seemed steadier now, his whimpering lessened. It was such a tender change, Vincent tucking himself against Wesley like he was seeking protection. Wes’s gut twisted into a series of knots so tight he thought they’d never come out.
“I bet you, Kendall,” He huffed, carrying Vincent across the hall and out the little side door to the garage, “that I’m going to win those ten bucks.”
“Did I say ten?” Kendall coughed. “I meant five.”
“Fucker.” Wes had to shift Vincent even further against his shoulder to finagle the passenger door of his mom’s old silver minivan open. “Okay he’s in. Aw, shit, seat belt. There.”
