Молли Харпер - Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs

“Walter’s mother was eager to have her basement back,” Gabriel explained. “She was glad to be rid of this. She brought it down to the council office this morning. No one else will want it, so Ophelia wanted you to have it. I believe it’s a reminder to stay on your best behavior.”

I tossed the cassette single of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” back into the box. “If you beat somebody up, you take their stuff? Wait, what’s to keep someone from challenging another vampire to a duel just because they like their car?”

“Nothing,” he admitted. “As long as the vampire can find some reason for the duel, even if it’s a contrived reason. Some petty perceived slight. The restrictions loosen a bit as you get older. The goal is to keep newly risen vampires from developing a taste for random killing, which is the only reason the council is taking such an interest in Walter’s death. They’re trying to make an example of you.”

I must have made my “that sucks” face, because Gabriel assured me, “There’s always been a pecking order, a demand for reason. Even more so now that we’re trying to appear civilized for the humans.”

“This is a stupid system.”

“Yes, so much less civilized than your corporate takeovers and mega-chains,” he said, hefting the box. “Where would you like this?”

“Not in my house,” I said. “Take it to the mudroom, and I’ll burn it later.”

Once again displaying that amazing vampire dexterity, Gabriel shifted the box to one arm and reached for the nearest doorknob. It would have been impressive had he not opened the door to the wrong room.

“No, don’t go in there!” I cried as Gabriel stepped into my library.

“You have a lot of unicorns,” he said, his voice shadowed in both awe and horror.

One of the few things I’d done to make the house my own was installing my collection of unicorn figurines on the library shelves. My late grandma Pat, who had been the oatmeal-cookies-and-Ivory-soap type, bought me a unicorn music box when I was six. I played that thing until the little motor wouldn’t tinkle “You Light Up My Life” anymore. So, unicorn figurines, music boxes, and stuffed animals became the gift for unimaginative relatives to get me for birthdays, Christmases, Valentine’s Days, graduations, Arbor Days. In fact, I’d just received two ceramic unicorn bookends the previous Christmas from my uncle.

For reasons even I couldn’t explain, I could not throw the little suckers away. The majestic sweep of their horns, their imperious painted eyes, held some sort of strange, unholy thrall over me. So, I stashed them in the library, where nobody goes but me.

Except, of course, for the one person I really didn’t want to see them.

“A lot of unicorns,” Gabriel repeated.

I tried to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the jamb—most likely to get a better look at my ten-inch ceramic unicorn lamp with the revolving-color, fiber-optic tail.

“Fine, fine. You know my secret. I have a unicorn collection.”

“That’s a very sad secret,” he said as he allowed me to shove his foot from the door.

“Strong words coming from someone who was ‘devoured’ by a sea lion.” I snatched the box out of his hands and tossed it into the laundry/utility room. Then I locked both doors with a decisive snick.

“I like your father,” Gabriel said. “I actually enjoyed speaking to him, very much.

In my courting days, meeting a woman’s father could be an unpleasant experience. There was male posturing, vague threats to my manhood. Sometimes a shotgun would be cleaned in front of me.”

“You didn’t by chance meet these girls’ fathers in a hayloft while wearing no pants, did you?” I asked.

“I believe it’s in my best interest not to answer that.”

I snickered. “My dad’s not much of a gun guy, so I think you’re safe. Besides, with today’s fathers, it’s more of a background check and pray-for-the-best sort of thing.”

“Duly noted,” he said, smiling and leaning against the wall across from me.

“However, I am glad to have established a friendly relationship with your father, since I have plans for his daughter. Those plans include kissing you again,” he said, crossing his arms. The statement seemed as much a challenge as information. “I enjoy kissing you.”

“Immediately or eventually?” I asked. “And thank you.”

“I haven’t decided.”

I was proud that I managed not to giggle. “Well, I appreciate the warningmmmph.” The rest of that no doubt brilliant response was muffled as Gabriel decided to pursue the more immediate option.

Again, I say, woo and hoo.

Gabriel pressed me against the wall, grinning as he nipped my bottom lip with his fangs. He traced the lines of my throat with his canines, pressing ever so slightly against my collarbone with his tongue. His fingers slid slowly up my ribcage, stroking the sides of my bra. He drew circles over my shirt, touching every part of my breast except the nipple, teasing me. Since we were being cheeky, I slid my hand down to his zipper and squeezed lightly. I grinned when he jumped.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” He chuckled, toying with a strand of my hair.

“Inexperienced but willing to learn,” I said, and was disappointed when his face didn’t change expression. “No response?”

“Besides yay?” he asked. I smacked his shoulder.

I was laughing when he kissed me again, lips molding to the curve of my smile.

Gabriel’s hand at the small of my back led me down the hall toward the stairs. Were we going upstairs? I wondered. As he cupped my jaw in his hands, I found my feet willingly backing up the first step toward my bedroom.

He pulled away and ran a hand down my cheek. “It’s been a long night. Time for you to be in bed.”

I waited for the little voice in my head to start making excuses, such as I couldn’t have sex with Gabriel, I barely knew him. My room was a wreck. I was caught up in a murder investigation. I hadn’t shaved my legs. And I found I didn’t care about any of it.

I tilted my head and asked, “Will I be going there alone?”

“Tonight,” he said. “You’re not ready. I’ve seen inside your head, Jane. In the jumble of lovely and complicated and, dare I hope, creative thoughts, you’re afraid we’ll have bad sex and then you’ll never see me again. And if you think that way, even with my considerable skill”—he paused for me to finish laughing—“it will be bad.”

“Look, Dave Chandler left me on the ninth floor of our university’s research library without my panties after we lost our virginity together. He never called me again and actually turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction whenever he saw me on campus. Unless you think you’re going to do that, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem.”

Gabriel’s face went blank. I waved my hand in front of his vacant, staring eyes.

“Gabriel?”

He shook himself back into the present. “Sorry, something strange happened inside my head when you said the word ‘panties’—the overwhelming urge to kill Dave Chandler combined with a simultaneous loss of blood to the brain.”

I laughed. And yes, I lost my virginity in a library. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Dave and I were both student library workers, and we did have a generous fortyfive-minute dinner break. It turned out that while the Russian folklore section offered plenty of privacy (seriously, no one ever went up there), the shelves left really weird bruises on your back. Lesson learned.

Gabriel slid into his jacket and pulled me close. “When you’re ready, I will be the first to run for the bedroom, stripping out of my clothes and singing ‘hallelujah’ at the top of my lungs.”