Page 39 of Stitched Up in You
A lightning bolt pierces the sky out the small nearby window, throwing the giant man’s figure in light.
“Oh my god. You’re not a vampire at all, are you?”
Chapter 15
FRANK N. STEIN
“You’re not a vampire at all, are you?” she utters, her usually rosy complexion ashen as she stares up at me.
She doesn’t speak again as her gaze darts over my face, and I realize my mistake in saving her idiotic life. Although there was no recourse to outing myself when the one blasted human I’m trying to keep alive decides to throw herself atop tall buildings and use house fixtures as a thrill-seeking device.
I stand with my feet planted wide, having jumped down the almost two flights of stairs to catch her in time. Her question is what halts my pitch forward into the depths of my power and pulls me from truly letting my rage overtake my senses. The soft scent of her, a mixture of orange blossom and vanilla, greets my nose, and I grit my teeth in response.
It would be easier if she smelled vile.
She licks her lips, and a snarl lifts my lips at the maneuver.She tossed herself off a flight of stairs on purpose, the manipulative chit.
Annoyed beyond all reason, I drop her abruptly, mildly amused by her harsh exhalation when she lands on the marble floor. From her cursing and mutterings its clear she’s fine.
She looks on in horror at the broken marble tile beneath my feet.
The female to all appearances is sane, but toys with her life and chooses to send what most would consider a fortune to animals.
“Why the cat and dog fund?” I find myself asking, wanting to know why she would do such a thing, what her possible reasoning could be, all while pushing away the question of why I care what a human does at all.
Her brows pull low as she frowns at me, her usually smirking lips pursing in a tight line as she gingerly raises up on her arms.
Fucking serves her right; I hope her ass smarts for days.
“Because they need help, and usually nobody tries to protect them,” she says.
The words stun me.
Red blooms in her cheeks, as if she somehow embarrassed herself with the admission, and I oddly wonder why when nothing seems to phase this woman.
Most humans can be easily put into boxes. Greedy, despot, pervert, bigot, and the list go on.
So few of them place genuine value on the life of others, puppets to their own selfish desires and whims, while most are slaves to a system created to hold them in check. The entire species sheep to those that seek to lord over them, living blissfully unaware that the supernatural exists.
Not the case with this one. Oh. She goes into a box alright, only it's labeled Pandora and is chock full of chaos and spite.
I take in her luscious curves, how her breasts are so large they fill even my hands, at how her wide hips flare away from her body and the memory of her tastes makes my mouth begin to water as I stare down at her.
I frown. I’d question why I’m having such a reaction to her, but then again, I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge.
“Sir?” Bruno’s clear voice rings out from the side entrance.
“What?” I bark out, not taking my gaze off the woman in front of me.
“We’ve brought what you asked for,” he says.
Her wide green gaze brightens and her lips curve into a soft full smile that seems to light her up from within. “Edgar!” she shouts, stepping around me.
I glance back at the parlor doors and find Bruno smiling down at Bernadette, while Nero carries the cat crate at his side, scowling.
My gaze clashes with Nero, who arches a brow, most likely due to her presence. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t thrown her into a dark room by now. They’re both dressed in black suit and tie, their usual garb when on mission.
“Oh hi, I’ve missed you so much,” the female gushes, her voice higher in pitch and dramatic.
