Page 34 of Fanged Secrets
I wrinkled my nose at the smell of mildew and old carpet, eyes sweeping the small lobby briefly for any sign of danger. All I could see was scuffed floorboards and old furniture, weathered picture frames, and an old-fashioned telephone yellowed with age. Dust particles danced in the faint light overhead.
My gaze settled on a wizened old lady behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Round spectacles were perched on her nose, held together with tape and geriatric obstinance. She looked up as we stepped inside, owlish eyes widening as she took in our disheveled appearance.
I approached the counter and tried to muster as much calm and composure as I could manage. Amara stood beside me, pale and silent, eyeing the cobwebs on the ceiling with a faint look of distaste.
"We need a room." I tried to keep my tone chipper, but my voice sounded rough even to my own ears. "Two, if you have them."
The old lady squinted at me over her spectacles, then glanced at Amara. "Only got one suite left, dear. Queen-sized mattress though, if you’ll have it."
I watched Amara from the corner of my eye, but she gave no reaction. It would have to do. I would sleep on the floor outside if it would make her feel better.
I sighed, tugging the backpack from my shoulder and rifling through the sparse contents. "We'll take it."
As she counted my money with gnarled fingers, the old woman cast curious glances our way. I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing a bare foot against the back of my opposite ankle. I could only imagine what we looked like to her.
I was tattered and bloody, with stringy hair pasted to my neck and shoulders. It hung in wiry, stiff strands down my back. Amara was white as a sheet and expressionless, dried blood smeared across her eyes like a masked bandit.
“Your key.” The old woman interrupted my assessment and I hurriedly plastered on a smile. "Room’s around the back."
“Thanks.” I pocketed the key and lifted my backpack. Amara was already turning away, gliding like a ghost across the lobby and out the front door.
“Just remember, breakfast is at eight and checkout is at eleven,” the woman added as I followed after Amara. “And try not to get too, um, enthusiastic. The walls are thin, you know."
I choked, stumbling over my own feet and barely catching myself from falling flat on my face. The old bat returned to her magazine with a blase smile, casually flipping the page like she hadn’t nearly killed me via an unexpected heart attack. I walked with the rigidity of a tin soldier all the way out the door.
Amara was waiting for me outside our room, sitting on the threshold with her knees tucked under her chin. She kept her eyes on the ground while I stepped past her and wrestled with the janky keyhole. The door groaned on its hinges as I pushed it open, revealing a dinky little room with a bed draped in threadbare sheets, a chipped dresser, and a small ensuite bathroom.
I heard the scuff of sneakers as Amara got to her feet behind me, and she poked her head in to inspect the interior with dull, empty eyes. I let her pass me, flattening myself against the doorframe to give her room.
She looked around the small space, and I waited. I’d promised her that I would explain everything.
By Leyore rules, she had already seen too much. She would either have to enter into a contract or have her memory wiped. Both options stung for completely different reasons. She was already tied to me, married as we were, and I wouldn’t want to box her in further with something like a blood contract. But wiping her memory… that was a thought too painful to contemplate.
For the time being, for the time we had left, I owed her the truth.
Amara turned suddenly and fixed steeled eyes on me. Her hands began to move rapidly, flowing through gestures as she signed with a speed that left me struggling to keep up. I could feel the weight of her demand for an explanation in every gesture, but my limited grasp of the language left me scrambling to decipher her words.
Her hands formed shapes and movements that I only half-understood. I caught bits and pieces – "you," "why," "explain" – but the rest was a blur of frustration and urgency.
My heart stuttered at a sudden, painful thought. This was how she felt all the time, reading lips and piecing together conversations from fragmented clues.
I took a deep breath, running my hands through my hair.
"Amara, I – " I began, my hands moving clumsily as I attempted to sign my words as well as speak them. “Just slow down, okay? Just – just listen.”
Amara’s eyes hardened, but her hands stilled and her arms hung at her sides. Eyeing her warily, I started with the very first thing that I’d learned.
"I... vampire." I made a 'V' shape with my index and middle fingers and tapped my neck, a gesture that made her flinch.
"Not... all vampires... bad." I signed, my movements awkward and stilted. "Some... like me... donors... willing humans."
She looked alarmed then, closing a palm over her throat like she expected me to jump her. I could tell I had gotten something wrong, and I groaned in frustration, plopping down on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath me and I brushed a hand over my eyes.
There was nothing to do but forge ahead. Through my splayed fingers, I spotted a tattered guest register book and a pen. I jumped to my feet and Amara took a cautious step back, watching me guardedly while I tore out a piece of paper and hunched over the dresser.
My hands shook slightly as I drew what was supposed to be the dragon shifter. It looked more like a lizard wearing two party hats but it would have to do.
"Dragon shifter," I spoke and wrote above it, and held up the drawing for her to see. "That’s what attacked us."
