Kathy Love - Fangs For The Memories

Time for my long list of thank yous …

I want to first thank my editor, Kate Duffy, who has once again taken a big chance on me. Thank you so much, Kate! Thank you to the Tarts. I'll do better next time. Really.

Thank you, Mom and Dad. You help me more than you will ever know.

Thank you, Bill and Mary Ellen.

Thank you, Teresa, Gary and Megan.

Special thanks to Lisa, Julie and Treena — for listening, plotting, sympathizing, and telling me to get this darn thing done.

And another special thanks to Cindy, Toni, Beth, Cat and Julie for lots of encouraging e-mails and chats.

And all my love to Emily and Todd. Especially to Em, you are a very patient two-year-old. Mommy loves you.

"Hey, baby, you looking for a little holiday cheer?"

Rhys paused on the sidewalk in front of a rundown bar and glanced over at two women leaning against the side of the building. They both smoked cigarettes, the smoke escaping their red lips, mingling with the steam of their breath in the icy night air. Their shabby winter coats were opened wide to reveal their thin bodies clad in skimpy, clinging dresses. One shivered, but still managed to shoot him a desperately inviting look.

And he thought he was having a shitty Christmas Eve.

"I'm looking for a drink," he told them, gesturing to the bar's door with a slight jerk of his head.

"Oh, come on, honey," the one who had voiced the invitation coaxed, "I've got some mistletoe right here." She threw down her cigarette, shoved away from the wall and waved a plastic sprig toward him.

It was imitation holly, but Rhys didn't see much point in mentioning that fact. "Sorry, no."

"Well, after you've had yer drink, gorgeous, I'll be waiting for ya." She smiled, reaching out to trail the fake greenery down the lapel of his coat.

Rhys didn't respond and stepped past her to push open a windowless door sporting a tattered wreath. Before slipping into the smoky darkness of the bar, he stopped and looked back at the two prostitutes.

Even though they were young, if his senses were correct only in their late teens, they looked old, haggard. The reverse of him-with his youthful body and ancient existence.

On impulse, he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

The one closest to him watched his movement, the tip of her tongue running hungrily over the unnatural red of her lips. The one still against the wall stepped closer, her eyes also fastened to his movement, avarice burning in her dark eyes.

No, not the reverse, he realized. Not at all. They were truly just the same. Hunger ruling them, making them do things they never believed they would. The only difference was their bitterness was etched into their skin, where his was deceptively hidden, eating at his insides.

Rhys's hand stilled for a moment, but then he did pull out his money. He supposed he deserved to pay for feeling sympathy for these two. It must be that it was the season. He wouldn't let his hard-learned lessons slip his mind again.

He withdrew two bills. "Find a warm place to stay tonight."

The one near him snatched the money from his hand. Her eyes widened as she noted the denomination. "Thanks, mister." She immediately walked back to her coworker. "Come on, girlfriend. Let's go party!"

The two clacked away on worn high heels. Now that their need was satisfied, Rhys was forgotten.

Again, just like his kind, he thought tiredly. Getting what they crave, then moving on.

He entered the bar, and the door slammed shut behind him. He was immediately enfolded in a hazy, surreal glow of blue and red neon. He slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and ordered a scotch, neat.

"You want to run a tab, mister?"

Rhys nodded and took a deep swallow of the fiery liquor. Setting the glass down, he twisted, his back to the bar, to survey the room. The small place was quite busy. On Christmas Eve, no less.

He twisted back to his drink, staring into the amber liquid. He appeared oblivious to the rest of the room, but if anything, he was more aware of what was going on around him than when he'd been glancing around.

The two men a few stools away were regulars here. They drank whiskey and water and smoked filterless cigarettes. The one closest to him was complaining that his wife had left him. Of course, he didn't mention that he'd beaten her for years before she'd finally worked up the nerve to go.

The woman at the end of the bar wore cheap perfume and an abundance of AquaNet. She was waiting for someone-a lover. Rhys could practically taste the craving radiating from her. Although Rhys couldn't quite tell if the lust was for the man or for the drugs he would also provide.

The four men playing pool were friends and deep in their cups, celebrating. Not the holiday season but the fact that the one with the boyish face, which disguised a soul that was extremely dark, had just been released from prison. Out on good behavior, and looking to undo all that proper conduct.

These were the types that were in seedy bars on Christmas Eve-people without families or love or lives. The lost, the hungry, the violent.

And then there was him. So full of hunger, it almost crippled him.

He polished off the remainder of his drink and signaled to the bartender for a refill.

Drinking numbed him. Alcohol didn't affect him as it did normal people, but it did insulate him. It anesthetized his feelings and made him capable of living in his own skin. But ultimately, the liquor never did what he wanted it to do. It never killed that raging hunger-the hunger that constantly ate away at him. No, only one thing appeased that, and even then, it was nothing but a quick fix. A brief reprieve from the gnawing in his soul.

He nearly snorted out loud. His soul? Yeah, right, he'd lost that a long time ago.

The bartender returned with another drink. Rhys took a long swallow, closing his eyes to savor the smoky flavor, when a prickling danced over the back of his neck.

He shifted on the barstool, searching for the being that managed to so abruptly shift the foul hopelessness of the room.

She stood in the doorway, looking every inch of her five feet out of place. A tiny woman with pixielike, dark hair and huge eyes. Even in the distorting neon glow of the room, Rhys could tell they were green-a true green.

An innocent fey creature lost in a harsh, cold land. Rhys raised an eyebrow at his thoughts. There must be something in the air tonight; he was never so fanciful. Besides, he thought bitterly, he was the only otherworldly creature here.

He took another deep swallow of his drink, still watching her over the rim of his glass. The small woman glanced around, nervousness clear on her face. Then, to his surprise, she straightened her shoulders and headed to the bar.

She climbed onto the stool next to his and waited for the bartender to come take her order. Still, when he did, she took a moment to consider what she wanted.

Again she surprised Rhys by asking for a tequila shot, although there was a faint rise at the end of her request as though she wasn't quite sure if a tequila shot was a real drink.

Rhys pretended to focus on his scotch, but he continued to center his attention on her. Not only was she nervous, but she was miserable, filled with hurt and anger and… despair. But all those strong emotions couldn't overshadow her natural scent. She smelled fresh and sweet like flowers warmed by sunshine. He couldn't remember the last time he had smelled a mortal that untainted, that pure. Not an adult mortal anyway.