Page 40 of Fanged Embrace
Clearing my throat, I pretended my heart hadn’t just attempted a handspring and trailed after her into the kitchen.
River was already rummaging in a cluttered cabinet. I perched on a high stool at the marble island in the center, trying not to gawk while she set a dainty teapot on one burner, slid a chem-lab contraption of glass onto another, and started multitasking with a degree of focus I couldn’t possibly compete with.
I planted my elbows on the counter. Watching her whizz around the kitchen, all of the fatigue I’d been staving off over the course of the night came rushing back at once. I closed my eyes and let my head droop into my hands, let my mind drift…
“Do you always do your snooping solo?”
“What?” I jerked upright again, then let out a strangled squawk when I looked to the left.
“Sorry—wasn’t trying to sneak up on you!” River was right next to me now and looking appalled at spooking me. She backed up a step and leaned on the counter. “But I’m curious. Where did you get the tip-off about the facility and the guy coercing people at bars? I thought you were trailing the organization on your own.”
“Not exactly.” I sucked in a slow breath, hunching lower over the countertop. “I have a friend on the police force—he’s been helping me chase some leads.” I paused, biting down on my bottom lip. “He’s just a little more focused on planning and I’m a little more interested in… immediate action.”
River’s response was rather pointed. “You mean running headfirst into danger, consequences be damned?”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Adrenaline makes me productive.”
“Adrenaline makes you reckless.”
I should’ve bristled—Ididbristle—but then she set a mug of chamomile in front of me like a well-placed diversion, steam curling gently under my nose. The smell was calming. So was the way she backed up even further, granting space instead of hovering.
I wrapped cold fingers around the warmed porcelain and forced myself to at least attempt to be polite. “Thank you.” It came out through gritted teeth, but at least I said it.
River settled on the opposite end of the island, lifting a steaming cup to her lips. “I’m still trying to understand how a functional adult can despise coffee.”
My brow crept up and I flicked a glance her way. ‘Functional’ was a stretch but I’d take it.
“Easy. It tastes like dirt,” I muttered, blowing over my tea. “Also, I’m literally broke. I can barely afford the water bills, let alone fresh beans. So even if I did enjoy the flavor of mud, I wouldn’t be drinking much of it anyway.”
I meant it as a joke—dark, sure, but a joke. Only I realized it didn’t really land like one when River’s smile slipped, surprise flitting across her face like a cloud over the moon. For a heartbeat I wanted to crawl under the marble island.Great job, Laurie, ruin the vibe.
But River snorted out a laugh. “Damn. Meanwhile, I spend more on ethically sourced Sumatra beans than most people do on rent.” She made a vague gesture with a hand over her shoulder. “And don’t worry about running out of water here, or bathrooms. You’ve got seven available so take your pick.”
“Seven?” I squeaked out the exclamation, setting my cup down a little too hard. “You havesevenbathrooms!?”
River nodded through another sip of coffee. “Technicallynine, but two are hidden behind a bookcase—” At my incredulous expression she shrugged. “Long story.”
I barked out a laugh despite myself. “I guess it pays to be undead.”
River nodded with complete sincerity. “The immortality certainly contributes to the accumulation of too many things.” She flicked a finger off her cup and pointed at mine. “How’s the chamomile?”
I took another cautious sip. “Suspiciously perfect. Did you hex the teapot?”
“Not at all. Never been very good at spellcasting,” she deadpanned, shooting a glance at the teapot. “I think it’s sentient, though. I swear it moves when I’m not looking.”
A snort escaped before I could strangle it. River’s grin returned—looser, warmer—and suddenly we were just two exhausted women nursing hot drinks in a fancy kitchen.
“So,” she went on, narrowing one eye like a jeweler appraising a flawed diamond, “besides adrenaline and the occasional cup of tea, what exactly powers one Laurie-not-Lorelai to chase down her enemies with reckless abandon?”
“Cheap noodles. Bad decisions. Sheer spite.” I ticked them off on one hand, sipping down chamomile with the other.
“Ah, a balanced diet.” River snickered into her cup. “Spite is my favorite food group.”
“I thought your kind preferred your proteins.” I made a vague attempt at imitating vampire fangs with my free hand.
“Eh, even immortals need a cheat day.” River fluttered her fingers in the air. “Branch out from hemoglobin, try something artisanal—rage-aged grudges, for example.”
I huffed out a laugh, ignoring the absurdity of the conversation. “You’re very strange, even for a vampire, you know that?”
