Kathy Love - Fangs But No Fangs

"Thanks, Jed," she said, still preoccupied with her own thoughts as she placed the last of the dried mugs on the shelf under the bar.

"Jolee girl."

She glanced up, surprised by the old man's nickname for her. He leaned on the mop, his wispy white hair and beard looking a little like a mane. He reminded her a bit of Santa's skinny, chain-smoking brother— if Santa had one of those.

"It was a good night," he said with an encouraging grin that showed the many craggy lines around his blue eyes.

She nodded. She didn't feel good. She felt lousy— and alone. At this point, Jed was about the only person she could call a real friend. But she wouldn't talk to him about her problems. The old guy had his own issues, aging and alone and living in squalor behind a bar.

"Night." He stopped in the doorway to light a cigarette before stepping out into the warm night.

"Jed," she called before he disappeared into the night. "You want a snack to take home with you? I have some extra pretzels and nuts in the storeroom."

"I'm good," he said with a nod. "But I appreciate the offer." He waved and disappeared into the dark.

She wished she had more to offer the old man, but at this point, she didn't have much else herself. Even with this relatively good night, she was going to be lucky to make her mortgage payment this month.

There's always someone with less, she reminded herself.

She crossed the bar to flip the lock on the back door and slide the heavy bolt above the handle closed. She finished turning down the lights in the main room, then she headed to her small office to double-check her safe, an ancient gray block beside her equally ancient desk. Everything was locked tight.

She picked up her tote bag, and fumbled with her few keys to get the right one for the door out of her office. She stepped out the door and then inserted the key in the lock. She needed an alarm system, another thing to add to the list of improvements she hoped to make at Leo's. Another thing that would have to wait a while.

The night was warm, and thankfully clear. A half moon hung in the indigo sky, and she could easily see her way to the black strip of paved road.

All the same, she rooted through her bag for her small flashlight. Twisting the top of the narrow black cylinder, the small bulb lit, although it barely cast a beam two feet in front of her. The batteries weren't going to last much longer, and normally she wouldn't have wasted them on a clear night like tonight. But she needed the reassurance of the faint glow. It made her feel better. A little anyway.

Usually, she didn't mind the walk home. But tonight, after that man's come-on and Vance's threatening visit the night before, well, she'd just as soon get home as fast as possible.

Sometimes I don't know if this plan of mine is really about becoming someone different or just trying to erase the past. Do you think it's even possible to erase the past? I don't know.

I know I'm not hurting anyone anymore. But I'm not making any real amends to those I hurt before. A very important step to recovery. Number Nine on the list, actually. Forgiveness.

How do you ever make up for the worst thing you can possibly do to another? You can't. Maybe this plan is doomed from the start. I'm sorry Rhys, Sebastian, Elizabeth, and Jane. I wish I had understood sooner.

On an upnote, I did get my Popeil Solid Food Injector. So if I want to make a roast with chunks of garlic inside it, then I'm all set.

Christian slammed the stick shift into gear, then pressed the pedal farther to the floor. The engine of his Porsche revved and accepted the push for speed readily.

The shadowy trees tunneled around him, a blur of black on either side of him. He barely registered them, instead staring at the road in front of him. The tires spun faster and faster as more and more road disappeared under his car.

He'd allowed himself to drive tonight. To run away for just a while. But the driving, always a reliable source of escape, wasn't working. No, now racing through the dark didn't give him even the slightest measure of contentment.

He told himself that he'd rise tonight and his reaction to Jolee would be gone. A good day of unnatural slumber was the cure for most ailments. But nothing had changed. He still couldn't stop thinking about her.

He gripped the steering wheel, trying to concentrate on the vibration of the vehicle around him. But instead of feeling the purr of the engine, he could only remember the sensation of her softly accented voice caressing his skin.

He pushed the buttons on the armrest, and the windows glided open, allowing the warm spring air to gust through the car. The earthy, rich scents of new foliage mingled with the scent of leather. He breathed in deeply, only to have that smell replaced by the memory of sweet cinnamon and honey.

He growled, the sound lost in the whip of the wind. Why couldn't he get this mortal out of his head? He couldn't satisfy his hunger, not with her. Not with any mortal. So why did he ache for her? He'd even fed more than usual tonight. He could feel the warmth of the extra blood in his body. But that warmth didn't soothe the need deep inside him.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Jolee. Even now, he wondered if she was home. Was she okay? Did she hate him? Again he saw her face as he'd last seen it, her lovely, dark eyes widened with surprise, then pain.

He punched his foot down until he felt the pedal connect with the floorboard. The trees and road were a dizzying blur all around him. Suddenly her face was in front of him, small in the distance, blindingly pale, eyes wide and stricken. That face would haunt him.

Almost too late, he realized the image wasn't his memory, a tormenting figment of his imagination. She was real. In front of him.

He slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel. The tires skidded on the tar, rubber melting and burning as he slid closer and closer toward that face. Toward Jolee.

He wasn't going to make it. A wave of panic and helplessness choked him. He was going to hit her. But at the last moment, it was Jolee who reacted, jumping away from the careening vehicle. The car spun, and he lost sight of where she might have gone. Finally the wheels caught and the car rocked to a halt in the center of the now empty road.

Christian jerked the gear shift into neutral and scrambled out of the car. The night was quiet, except for the low rumble of the car's engine. He ran toward where he thought she'd been, searching the dark, his night vision not focusing as quickly as it should have because of his weakened state and his panic.

"Damn it," he shouted, rushing to the side of the road, scanning the ditch, growing more agitated. Then he saw her, a crumpled mass of limbs among some rocks and weeds.

Suddenly he wasn't seeing Jolee. He was seeing another mortal. A tiny woman with short, dark hair and huge green eyes. His brother's woman, the woman he'd killed in a false sense of vengeance. Jane.

Nausea gripped his stomach, but he forced himself to ignore it. He scrambled down the small embankment toward Jolee. Not Jane, Jolee. And she wasn't dead. She couldn't be. He couldn't have killed another innocent mortal.

His eyes better adjusted and now he could see her well. He could see she had a scrape on her arm, blood glistening in the moonlight. The wound seemed to be shallow and not life-threatening. His eyes moved on.

He was more worried about her head, which had hit the rocks. He knelt beside her, holding his hand over her body. He could feel her life energy, strong, warming his fingers. And he could see her heart beat, even at the base of her throat. She didn't seem to be in any distress, but he was still concerned that something might be wrong with her neck or her head.