Drake placed both hands on the counter, leaning over it and getting all up in my grill. "Yes," he said simply, though the "don't fuck with me challenge" in his icicle eyes was pretty damn clear. Not that I paid attention.
Grabbing his face with both my hands, I dragged him closer to me, searching for evidence of...I don't know...decay? My eyes roamed over every nook and cranny of his handsome mug, turning his head this way and that. But...nothing. No jowls or flapping turkey neck. No gray or receding hair line. No liver spots. None of those tiny veins that look like roadway maps. Hell, other than some sexy, crinkly crow's feet around his eyes, his face was as smooth as a baby's bottom. I pulled his cheek, the skin snapping back into place the instant I let it go. Wow...seriously good elasticity.
Botox had nothing on Drake. No matter which direction I pulled, poked or prodded or how hard I squished, his face remained attractively smooth.
"If you are finished?" he growled, yanking his head away from me playing with it like Silly Putty. His eyes glittering dangerously, he scrubbed his clenched jaw.
"I...I just can't believe it." I continued to stare enthralled with him as if he was a science fair project. "You're...you...I mean...575 years?" I stuttered, searching for something intelligent to say. "But you're HOT!" I blurted across the table. Oh great! I slapped my hand over my mouth. Nothing like getting a case of mouth diarrhea. I mean, he was totally smoking hot, but I really hadn't planned on telling him that...like...ever.
Fang chuckled. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself." His voice lowered to a deep sensual purr which flowed over me, sending little tiny electrical currents zapping down my skin. Giving me a flirty wink, he turned around and threw the two hunks of meat the size of a cow on the sizzling grill pan. The smell was amazing and my mouth began to water.
"How did you know I needed to eat food instead of...," I left the rest hanging, not quite able to say the actual word yet.
"Instead of what?" he asked, as he poked the meat with a fork.
"You know...," I shrugged, blushing redder than the tomato he was currently slicing.
He turned to me, cocking that eyebrow and for a few seconds, I wanted to shave it off. "Blood?" he teased, giving me a smirking grin.
I rolled my eyes at him, giving him a disapproving frown in return. "Yes," I bit out.
He tilted his head to one side, appraising me. "You aren't showing signs of blood lust," he stated matter-of-factly, turning back to prodding the steaks. What was it with men when it came to barbequing that they always had to play with the meat?
Oh Fang, I have been plenty lusty enough, I thought as I watched him move smoothly around the kitchen gathering up other accoutrements to go with our side of beef. This time, I was able to keep my thoughts where they belonged. Inside my head.
"Blood lust?" I asked, purposely trying to look away from his ass when he bent down to fetch a couple of potatoes out of the refrigerator drawer. I failed...miserably.
"It's when a vampire requires blood nourishment." He popped the two spuds into the microwave, pushing a couple of buttons until it started to spin and hum. Turning to face me, he crossed his beefy arms over his chest and leaned against the range. "You'll know when you have it. You will become singularly focused. Nothing else will matter but the craving." For a moment his eyes seemed to glow with a life of their own.
I blamed the butterfly reaction bubbling away in the pit of my stomach on being hungry. After all, I hadn't ate any real food but an M & M and some stale Cheetos since becoming a vampire. It had to be hunger and not the tingly sensation I get when he looks at me like that.
"There is outward signs to blood lust too. Your fangs will grow on their own and you will not be able to retract them until you feed."
I inhaled in shock, remembering my reaction to poor Mr. Tinkles as he innocently crossed my path earlier this evening. I had been suffering from blood lust. Self-consciously, I lifted a hand to my mouth, feeling to check that my teeth were still normal. Or...um...normal for a vampire that is.
"Don't worry, Red. You are safe, for now." He flashed me a toothy grin before turning back to cooking our feast.
"If I had been...in blood lust," I croaked out with words. "What would have happened? Would I...uh...have eaten Mason?"
"Don't be silly. Mason is an immortal, his blood is toxic."
The way he said it in that "don't be stupid" tone, fired up my temper. "Well, excuse me. How the heck would I have known?" I retorted, throwing imaginary daggers into his back.
Fang ducked his head, releasing a soft sigh. "My apologies." Turning, he faced me. "I forget you are..." he paused, appearing to be searching for the right words.
I wrapped my arms around my middle, tapping my foot on the rung of the stool. "I am a what?" My temper still simmering on a low boil. If he wasn't careful, things were about to get interesting up in this kitchen.
He shrugged a massive shoulder. "A newborn, basically."
I winced. Being compared to an infant wasn't exactly flattering. "I take it you don't have a lot of practice with newborns?"
"Hardly," he scoffed.
I should probably cut him a little slack. After all, it's not like I'm freaking Mary Poppins over here. I didn't have a clue when it came to babies. The thought of changing poopy diapers and all that messy fluid which seemed to seep out of every open orifice was enough to make me shudder in horror.
"I promise I'm housebroke," I muttered, still stinging from being equaled to a drooling infant.
"I didn't mean to insult you. But, when it comes to being a vampire..." His forehead wrinkled as he grappled with something else to compare me to.
"Im a noobie?" I offered quickly before he could insult me further with his lack of terminology.
"What's that?"
"A person who is new to playing a video game...usually online."
"Being a vampire is no game, but," he sighed, "I suppose for a lack of a better term, we will go with that one."
"I'm kickass at video games, by the way." I gave him my best, all American girl smile as a peace offering. I didn't make a habit out of handing those puppies out, so he should consider himself one of the lucky ones.
"Good to know," he chuckled.
"So...Mason. He's an immortal, but not a vampire?"
"No, he's not."
"But he can never die?"
"Immortals can die, Melanie." He reached across the counter and covered my hand with his. "So can vampires."
I looked up, his face was scary serious, making me think about all we had been through tonight. Threading my fingers with his, I held his hand. The warmth of his big palm wrapped around mine was comforting. "I thought vampires were the undead," I whispered.
He shook his head. "No. We are very much alive." He brought our entwined hands to his lips and bushed the back of mine in a feather soft kiss. "We stop aging at 27 in human years. Since we cannot catch mortal diseases and aliments do not affect us, we can live for many years. Though it is true we are more resilient than humans and heal quickly...if we are injured gravely enough to where our bodies cannot heal...we will die and so will Mason."
Holy hot lips! Yeah...I know he was giving me vital information, but good grief...the feel of his lips just about melted me into a liquid, simmering pile of goo. Reluctantly, I dragged my hand away from his. Fang's touch was affecting my ability to focus during our conversation and I had a feeling this stuff was important.
"How did Mason become an immortal without turning into a vampire? I thought once you got bitten that pretty much punched your membership card into the Twilight fan club forever?"
He raked his hand through his hair. "Fuck," he muttered. "You really do watch too much television," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "First off, you are born a vampire, not made into one. You need the genetic engineering in your DNA, biting someone doesn't turn them into anything other than a midnight snack."
I cringed at the thought.
"Mason is an immortal because he drank the blood of a vampire." He pointed and wagged his finger at me in warning. "Which is illegal now and comes with a death sentence, so don't be trying it or the Elders will have you staked out and left for the sun before you can say Coppertone."
I rolled my eyes. "Then if it's so illegal, how did Mason become immortal?"
"A long, long time ago...it was considered standard practice among vampires," he muttered, turning away from me and jabbing the steaks rather viscously with a fork. "The Colony would turn willing humans into immortals and use them as servants."
"Slavery?" My eyes popped open in astonishment, doing the Home Alone equivalent face. Poor Mason!
Spinning around, he nailed me with a frozen glower. "No! Not slaves...servants. There's a difference. The immortals at the Colony were employees. Paid and cared for."
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared right back at him. "Not a huge difference there fang boy."
He pursed his lips at me as if he had just sucked a lemon. "I didn't say I condoned it, but...," he sighed heavily. "It was a long time ago and has been outlawed now."
"So why don't you let Mason go free?"
"Because he is a vampire made immortal. He doesn't want to be free." He gestured upstairs. "When they consume the blood...willingly I might add...they become bonded to vampires. They have no desire other than to serve us." He turned back to the stove. "It's creepy as fuck sometimes," he grumbled under his breath.
"They can't be like reprogrammed or something?"
His shoulders sagged. "No, Red, they can't." He turned his head to the side and peered at me over his shoulders. I could see the sadness floating in his eyes. "The ones who don't live at the Colony stay in safe houses, like this one. Keeping it ready in case of need." He paused a moment. "It seems to give them purpose."
Seeing I had upset him, I decided to let it go. I mean, it's not like Mason didn't seem happy. In fact, the guy was the picture of giddiness when we arrived. And...well...he had hobbies...kind of. There was the candle making thing and the hunting of poor defenseless woodland creatures and mounting their noggins of plaques. So that was something. I'm not sure what...
"When's dinner going to be ready, Fang?" I asked in a chipper voice, officially changing the subject.
He seemed to relax, straightened up and flashed me a panty dropping smile. "Soon, Red."
I crossed my arms against the counter and cradled my head while I watched him work. Let me tell you...a man who knows his way around a kitchen was sexy as hell. Drake's movements were slow, precise and graceful, as if he was doing some kind of dance. A sexy salsa...or maybe a tantalizing tango.
My daydream of Fang in nothing but those leather pants with a rose clenched between his teeth, evaporated at the sound of a cell phone buzzing away. Obviously, it was on vibrate, but my supersonic hearing made it sound like one of those massage beds you put money in at those shady hotels and it shook the fillings out of your teeth.
Drake stabbed the steaks one last time before heading to his trench coat, fishing out the annoying cell.
"It's about time you called," he hissed. "I sent a text hours ago."
He stood in the living room, phone to his ear and one hand sitting on his lean hip. I couldn't make out what was being said on the other side of the conversation except for low murmuring. Whatever they said, Drake was not impressed and he started pacing around the couch like a caged jaguar.
"I need you to relay to the Elders that I have the package." He glanced over at me. Okay...I guess I'm the package now. That's not degrading...nope...not at all. I rolled my eyes.
"Of course alive!" he snapped.
Well...lucky me, I scoffed.
"Did you send the cleanup crew in?" Drake removed his gun holster and slung it over the top of the couch next to his coat. "Good." He nodded his head in approval. "All memories wiped?"
Memories wiped? I jerked my head up. What the hell did that mean? Briefly, I remembered Fang trying to do his Jedi mind meld trick on me. Was that what he was talking about? And whose memories were they giving the Windex treatment to? Mrs. Jones already had enough trouble remembering to put pants on most days, I doubted she could tolerate a bunch of vamps going in and Spic and Spanning what remaining memories she had left. Although, if would probably work in my favor if she suddenly forgot she once owned a cat.
"No. I want it disclosed to the newspapers that she died in the explosion." I gulped. Me? "Accidental gas leak." He laughed. "Yeah, well jerking the gas line out of the house might have help it along." So...that was the pop and hiss I heard.
"No. I haven't had time to go over anything yet." Drake nestled the phone between his shoulder and ear, digging through is coat once again. "We are at a safe house, just north." He pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it on the counter. "We should arrive at the Colony sometime this evening if all goes well." He leaned against the couch, crossing his shitkickers at the ankle, listening and occasionally nodding his head while he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Yes," he growled into the phone. "They showed up not to long after I did. Stoker knows she's alive." He glanced at me again, frowning. "No, there's four more in a burnt SUV at the bottom of No Chance Bridge." Drake gave me a wink and a tight-lipped grin. "You'll have to retrieve it before the authorities do."
Walking back over to the stove, he grabbed the fork and flipped the steaks. "We are good here and will be on our way at nightfall, we'll discuss strategy then." He inclined his head and gave a brief nod. "And Lucien, she stays alive." Without saying goodbye, he ended the call and tossed the phone up on the counter.
Hmmmm...so vampires can die, Mason is an immortal and Mel just got a earful from eavesdropping. I wonder what Drake meant when he told Lucien she stays alive....
Stay tuned for the next installment of FANGED to find out .
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