Page 46 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
Vincent tugged down his beanie cap and double checked the time. He’d already stayed in the seat ten minutes longer than he should have. He couldn’t quite feel the sun-induced pain coming on yet, but the delay was what made it deadly, never knowing whether to push through or hunker down until it was too late.
HotMouth
Hey, I have to run, sun’s gonna get me.
LordOfTheWin
Don’t burn up! You’re already hot enough!
That made his lips quirk, even if the expression felt forced and tired. He paused as he passed the journalist, trying for something that looked a little less like he was simultaneously pining over his only friend and battling a closet’s worth of internal turmoil. “Good luck on the article.”
The man mirrored his half-hearted smile. “Thanks. Don’t get bit by any vamps out there!”
He was probably just referencing Vincent’s meme; he sounded teasing, if a bit strained. But Vincent still couldn’t get the bad taste out of his mouth. At least being bitten by vampires was one thing hedidn’thave to worry about.
As he passed the reception desk, the librarian scowled at him. It might have been over anything—his clothing, the general griminess that was building back up after his shower at Wes’s house last week, his choice to sit in a house of books and look at nothing but his phone, or maybe she was just having a bad day—but the way she tucked a familiar-looking flier below her desk as he passed made his stomach twist. He pulled his hood up, shoving his hands into his pockets, and hurried. As he approached the door, it opened before him.
Matthew Babcock stood in it, his hair slicked back and his trench coat flaring.
Vincent had known; he’d known that the fliers and their fear mongering had to be Babcock’s doing. But seeing it confirmed still rattled him, stalling him in place a moment too long. Babcock’s mouth twisted into a smile. He grabbed at Vincent’s clothing, latching on so hard that Vincent stumbled as he tried to yank away. A button snapped off and somewhere near his shoulder the fabric ripped, but Babcock’s fist came free.
Vincent ran.
17
WESLEY
Wesley,
I slipped a tracker into our bloodsucker’s pocket a couple hours ago. We can catch him as soon as he bunkers down. It looks like he’s smart enough to keep on the move so far, probably trying to bide his time until the sun sets, but by then he should have the aches and shakes so badly he’ll be an easy grab.
I’ll let you know when we close in.
Matthew
Wesley unbuckled his seatbelt and closed Babcock’s email with a cringe. He thought of Vincent’s final text of the morning, the casual words taking on a little more threat with the reminder of just how serious the sun’s effects could be on a vampire.
Sun’s gonna get me.
Wes’s facetious reply felt inconsiderate now. He’d have to ask if Vincent was alright with him cracking jokes about the tougher parts of being a vampire. He knew from experience just how necessary it could be to make light of something painful—and just how horrible it could feel when the person doing so wasn’t someone who had to experience that pain in the first place.
He told Babcock he’d try to be there for the catch before shifting over to Kendall’s email, where she’d forwarded him instructions from the smith she’d hired to make Leoni’s birthday present. Wes was still following them around the side of the man’s house toward his work shed when Babcock’s acknowledgment appeared in a peppy little notification along the top of the screen.
This was good; this was progress, wasn’t it? A new vampire, a new chance to take down Vitalis-Barron. Except Vincent would be coming over around sunset. If the capture happened before that, then Wesley would have to cancel on him—another lie by omission that he didn’t want to add to all the things he’d kept secret—and if he was called away during their not-date, he’d have to explain why he was leaving. He doubtedmysterious vampire hunting outingwas a reason Vincent would accept without question. Or without bailing on their friendship entirely.
Which left Wes with one thing he desperately wanted to do before any of that went down: the one thing he’d been dreading all week.
His mind was still anxiously circling around the idea as he greeted the smith. “Hey, um, I’m Wes,” he managed, slipping back to his usual charisma with a smile. “My friend had a custom staff she wanted me to pick up from you?”
“Right, Wes, come in.” The man waved him inside.
He presented the staff on a long velvet cushion. Wes snapped a few pictures before carefully examining it. While he knew little about cosplay and even less about metalwork, he was pretty sure the elegant piece of polished wood with its partially inlaid metal sculpture of an elaborate blooming tree was somewhere between incredible workmanship and divine intervention. He paid the remaining cost for Kendall—it only felt right after everything she had done for him lately.
As he waited for the smith to package the staff up, his gaze roamed the rest of the man’s collection: metal projects in various stages of completion, from weapons to jewelry to things that looked like they belonged as part of a dungeon, if that dungeon involved a fair amount of velvet and all the victim’s groaning and begging was sensual. A pair of little golden vampire fang cuffs sat among them, each with a tiny plastic harness to strap them to the vamp’s blunter canines.
He imagined Vincent wearing the little sheaths, drooling and whimpering but unable to feed until Wesley let him take them off. The picture kindled just enough of a spark for him to understand why it appealed to some, but the idea of being bittenlessduring sex went counter to his own cravings. If he were the one with fangs, then perhaps…
The smith caught him staring, and his lips quirked on one side. “I don’t judge the kinks, I just make the toys.”
