Page 39 of Fanged Embrace
I stood awkwardly in the entrance hall, fidgeting with my jacket lapels while River presented the place with unnecessary flair. “Welcome to my humble abode!” She swept a grandiose hand around the jungle-museum mash-up, then clasped her hands behind her back. “Don’t mind the clutter. I collect… souvenirs.”
“Souvenirs,” I repeated faintly, staring at what looked verymuch like an ancient, cursed artifact sharing shelf space with a bubbling lava lamp.
The furniture was a time-travel traffic jam, and both intricate and ordinary tables and shelves sagged under random treasures. A shiny beetle trapped in glass, a vintage radio, weird helmets from bygone eras, and even what looked like a hunk of old car engine. Giant paintings of stern-faced strangers and stranger landscapes stacked on top of each other, frames jammed so tight the corners touched.
Right through the middle of everything ran a shallow indoor moat rippling with koi fish. They flicked around corners and under little wooden bridges, following the stream that stretched out and disappeared down the main hallway.
River stood waiting like she expected further comment and I racked my brain for something nice to say—and promptly short-circuited. Athank you for taking me inwas probably in order, but that made me feel like a charity case or some kind of stray animal she’d found in the trash.
So I simply stood there, in silence, shifting my weight from one foot to the other while I tried to assess her expression. She looked relaxed here, in her element, but she still eyed me like I was a ticking time bomb, standing at a respectable distance.
Was she suspicious of me? Was this whole song and dance one elaborate trick to get me to spill my secrets? I couldn’t figure her out—and her hospitality both baffled and bothered me immensely.
River’s brows rose as my eyes narrowed. “Sooo…” she dragged the word out, dropping her gaze and smoothing out her torn evening gown. “Can I interest you in?—”
“Where’s my gun?”
She paused, adjusted her expression a fraction, then shrugged. “Somewhere safe. Don’t worry, you’ll get it back tomorrow.”
My fingers curled into fists. I wanted it backnow. No waywas I going to spend a night in a vampire’s lair without a weapon.
But River was already breezing past the subject. “Anyway,” I flinched slightly when she strode by, heading toward an archway draped in hanging photos and chattering over her shoulder, “it’s been a long night and I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot cup of coffee to take my mind off that brief brush with death.”
I stood nailed to the spot. Suspicion, irritation, and reluctant gratitude held an awkward tug-of-war in my gut. Despite my many, many reservations, I was here now, in her home. I had agreed to stay one night. I’d also, technically,killedfor her.
That thought sent a slight tremor through my hand, down to the tip of the finger that had pulled the trigger. I masked the residual horror with a barbed glare.
When she realized I wasn’t budging, River paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
I folded my arms. The way she matched my tense suspicion with complete ease pissed me off beyond belief and I couldn’t tell you why. “I don’t drink coffee.”
She blinked—one of those long, slow blinks cats give when you have the audacity to tell them what to do. “That’s impossible. Everyone likes coffee.”
My scorn skyrocketed and I pinched my fingers in the air for emphasis. “That’s literally not true. Tons of people don’t like coffee.”
River gripped the bridge of her nose like I’d announced I disliked oxygen and would prefer to suffocate and die please and thank you. “Fine. Tea, then.” She snapped her fingers in an unnecessarily infantilizingcome-heremotion, all the while shaking her head. “Come along.”
Something in her tone, chiding like an exasperatedbabysitter, lit my fuse. I planted my shoes on the polished floorboards and folded my arms up tighter.
“What?” River tilted her head to the side. “Why are you glaring at me this time?”
I squinted harder—because that’s how you detect deception, obviously.
“All right,” River tried again, voice gentle in a please-don’t-crash-out-amongst-my-trinkets kind of way. “I’m not plotting anything except the fastest route to caffeine.” She swept both hands toward the archway that presumably led to the kitchen. “I promise you’ll get your gun back tomorrow and I promise not to bite you in the middle of the night—now will you please stop staring daggers at me.”
I opened my mouth, closed it, then jerked my gaze away. “Just…checking for ulterior motives.”
“Ulterior—?” River dropped her arms at her sides. “It’schamomile.”
A beat of silence passed, broken only by the occasional swish of fish skimming the surface of the stream. When I risked a glance her way, River snagged my gaze with an open and honest expression to counter my penetrating glare.
My skepticism waned. Maybe it wasn’t a facade at all, maybe she really was just a bit of an oddball with a penchant for discarded trinkets. Maybe, when she looked at me, that’s exactly what she saw. A broken curio, a perfect addition to her unusual collection.
I blew out a breath and smoothed out my scowl to something more akin to a slight sneer. “Fine.” I motioned for her to get moving, windmilling my arm and avoiding her eyes. “Chamomile sounds great.”
River’s whole face lit up, and the smile she flashed nearly sent me tottering backwards into the koi pond. “Excellent.” She spun on her heel, dark hair swirling out in waves, and made for the kitchen while I slammed a steadying palm to my chest.
It took more than a few seconds to come to terms with the abrupt fluttering in my stomach and then a few more to convince myself that it hadn’t happened at all. She was pretty, that was all. Most vampires were. They were literally built that way to lure in their prey.
