Page 59 of Minnie

The bell above the cafe dings some time later, and Zoe marches in. “Minnie. Good. You’re here. Where’s Amber? It’s time to go!”

A heavy feeling settles in my gut and Formula M takes over. I gesture at the line in front of the counter and roll my eyes. “I’m kind of busy.”

Zoe looks around, spots Chase typing away at his computer, and makes it levitate.

“Hey!” he shouts, jumping up to grab his laptop. He spots Zoe a second later and scowls at her. “Not funny!”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” she says, circling the bar and grabbing my arm. “I need to borrow Minnie. Cover for her. And where is Amber? We have a crazy vampire to stop.”

Chapter 30

Ashok

I step onto the stage and try to figure out what the vampire equivalent of prayer might be. As if anyone would listen to mine.

I clear my throat. Soulless creatures of the night, rests on the tip of my tongue, but I know those aren’t the right words. And the higher-ups would not be amused. They wrote my speech to appeal to our target demographic, and straying from the pre-approved words would ruin everything I’ve been working toward.

Don’t trust your gut, Ashok. Your gut has led you astray since the day you were turned.

And, if the agency is to be believed, vampires aren’t soulless after all.

I clear my throat and start with my rehearsed speech. “My fellow supernatural residents of Silver Springs.”

The supernatural residents in question don’t look very friendly, and panic courses through me. I’d been expecting a few animal rights activists, but half the people in the room are holding up signs that read ‘Free the Fuzzies,’ and they’re glaring at me like they wish I’d be one with my name and turn to Ash.

My gaze keeps drifting to one in particular, a redhead wearing a skin-tight pink dress that’s under some sort of magic that makes it reflect light. It creates a warm, pink glow around her, which is extremely distracting, but no one else seems the least bit bothered. Then again, no one’s gaping at the yeti in the third row either.

But what really draws me to the redhead isn’t her outfit—it’s the fact that she’s hands down the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her hair is thick and silky and begging to be touched. I want to cover her glossy, full lips with mine and get lost in her gorgeous green eyes while I fuck…

Oh shit, my fangs. I feel them pressing against my lower lip and quickly pop them back in.

I also realize I’m packing a semi, and focus my attention on the yeti. Nothing gets rid of a boner faster than the sight of a hairy white man.

It doesn’t matter how floored I am by the woman in pink. She’s clearly out of my league… both now that I’m a vampire, and back when I was just the kid genius everyone wanted to admire but no one ever wanted to date or befriend.

That and she’s holding up a ‘Free the Fuzzies’ sign, just like half the people here, including the blonde and brunette sitting on either side of her.

It reminds me of all the lame ‘walked into a bar’ jokes Dadaji—my paternal grandfather—used to tell me.

The brunette actually looks sort of familiar, but I have no idea where I might have run into her. And it doesn’t really matter. I need to focus. I’m here for a reason. To stop vampires from feeding on humans. Not to spring boners at the sight of redheads.

It’s why the agency funded my research instead of putting me behind bars. It’s why they brought me here to Silver Springs. It’s why I’m standing on this stage. They believe in me.

I can do this. I can convince them to purchase their own fuzzies. I can switch the vampire world to a more humane way of feeding, one creature at a time. And then, maybe I’ll finally be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

If I could, which I can not. Because apparently I come from a lineage of vampires who don’t have reflections—while others in the room may not be so unlucky.

Someone in the audience coughs. Someone else scratches their head, the sound of nails against skin echoing through the otherwise silent room.

Say something, Ashok.

I clear my throat again and try to take a deep breath. All it does is remind me I’m a vampire and I don’t need to breathe. Fang darn it!

Every pair of eyes in the room bores into me, and I mentally thumb through my arsenal of public speaking tricks. The only one that comes up is my dadaji’s advice—which he offered to me when I was defending my postgraduate thesis at seventeen.

Picture the audience in their underwear.

It worked with the three professors, and it’s all I’ve got.