Page 61 of Three Bites

“It looks kinda pathetic,” I commented, ignoring how Carl’s screaming turned into whimpers as he went into shock. “But I know several women who would be pleased to see it in this form. Do you think I can preserve it? And then send it to one of them?”

“Throw a ‘this dick is no more’ party and invite them all!” Theo piped up with his sunshine smile, while his fingers dug into Carl’s shoulders, trapping him.

“I will get a jar and some formaldehyde for you,” Tristan said and swept out of the room.

“Good lord, the basement,” Matthias looked at the ceiling with a sigh of great suffering.

“What’s in the basement?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“When Dracula became popular Tristan had a classic vampire phase,” Theo explained, a dimple appearing on his face as he tried to suppress laughter.

“He got too into it,” Matthias scowled. “There’s a frigging coffin with red velvet in the basement. And a cape. And jars with specimens. It’s embarrassing. It’s— wait, Victoria, get that look off your face. We are not cosplaying Dracula.”

I blinked at him innocently.

“Youare not cosplaying Dracula. I’m sure Tristan will be into it. Right, Tristan?”

“Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?” Tristan proclaimed, the quote from Bram Stoker’s Dracula a ready answer to my question.

I just had to kiss him.

He brought me joy, and hope, and a jar filled with formaldehyde to keep my tormentor’s dick in. Faced with that, how could I not believe in true love?

Epilogue

5 years later

My phone played the notes of ‘I’m Not A Vampire’ by Falling in Reverse.

“Hi, Tristan. What’s up?” I asked, glad for a breather. I finally caved in and agreed to let Matthias train me (‘At least some self-defense, Vic!’) and I was regretting my choice as sweat poured down my back.

“Good afternoon. Are you still considering getting a cat?” Tristan asked.

“Yes? Why?” I asked.

“I can get you a cat,” Tristan said then coughed. “But, um, I need to know the answer to a second question. Do you want a baby?”

My brain screeched to a halt. We have talked about this, having kids, in the most loose of terms. There was no agreement, no expectations, no plans. But maybe there was an opportunity. Did Tristan find a kid for us to adopt?

But wait, wasn’t he talking about a cat?!

A baby... a cat... a baby cat...

A cat baby?!

“You have a cat-shifter baby!” I yelled into the phone. “Don’t you?!”

“Wehave a cat-shifter baby,” Tristan corrected. “If you want.”

A baby that was going to attack me with a double dose of cuteness. A baby that was going to be a challenge to raise as none of us was a shifter. A baby that needed me. Tristan wouldn’t blindside me with this otherwise.

“Yes,” I said and my voice cracked. “Yes, I want a baby.”

Just a day later I cradled a six months old baby in my arms. The boy had small black tufts of hair on his little head and I wondered if all of his kind had this coloring. After all, he was a puma shifter.

“His mother died unexpectedly. If he was another kind of shifter, like for example a lion, he would be taken in by the extended family or raised in a group. But pumas don’t have structures like that and I couldn’t bear the thought of little Oscar ending in the human system or being passed from one supernatural group to another,” Tristan explained quietly, his finger caressing one chubby cheek as Oscar tried to latch onto his hand without success.

A year earlier, in the quiet darkness of the night, as we hid under the covers, Tristan told me about the two kids he had hundreds of years ago, about the family he had lost, so I knew how monumental it was that he wanted to try again. He trusted me to build something lasting with him, a future that wouldn’t go up in flames.

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