“I’m Kallista. But call me Kallie.” She holds a small hand out to me, her plump luscious mouth tilted up in a smile.
I close my own mouth, which was still agape, and reach out a hand to shake hers.
Her hand disappears inside mine, swallowed so completely by my larger one that it seems impossible she could ever pull free. I close my fingers around hers slowly, the way I might close a door on something I have no intention of letting out again. I’m so lost in the thought that I don’t realize I’m staring until she lets out a small, tinkling laugh. It warms my bones and squeezes the hollow space in my chest, and I instinctively reach to rub the ache there.
“This is the part where you tell me your name, so I can stop calling you Stud Muffin in my head.”
I clear my throat before responding, “Alek.”
That’s it. Nothing else comes out.
Way to go, you fool. Now she’ll think you’re an idiot.
But I see no judgment in her expression, only a playful curiosity that makes her eyes dance.
Her smile broadens to reveal a flash of perfect white teeth, and her eyes light up with a mirth that borders on mischief.
Oh, she’s trouble. Without a doubt. I should get out of here.
I drop her hand, my instincts screaming to find an exit. But every escape route would mean leaving her side, and the thought is more paralyzing than any physical barrier. I’m not trapped by the seat; I’m trapped by her.
“Tsk tsk, don’t you try to escape from me this time, Mister. I still have questions for you.”
She wags a finger at me teasingly and I find myself settling back into my seat.
There’s no escape. And a strange calm settles in my chest at the thought. A surrender.
“You’re not really a cop, are you?”
Shit. She’s coming straight at my throat.
I press my lips into a firm line. I can’t trust myself with words, not with her.
“How did you know about the pizza shop attack then?”
Ah, hell. How do I respond without name-dropping Stark?
“I was… tasked with investigating the attack.”
There. The truth. Just not all of it.
“But not by the human police.”
Her use of the word “human” hits me like a physical blow. It’s not a word people use unless they know there’s an alternative.
My composure cracks; how much does she already know?
I can only manage another helpless shake of my head.
“So, you know about the… fangs? Who are they? What are they?”
She whispers the wordfangsand glances around, leaning closer to me and giving me another intoxicating wave of her delicious scent.
My nostrils flare to gulp as much of it as possible, before the question registers in my brain.
Saints preserve me, what do I say?
And what will she do when she realizes that I am also one of them?
