His Lover's Fangs (2 page)

Barely aware of what he was doing, he turned
toward the bedroom door. It had been a while. Was she still in the
backyard? He struggled against himself not to return to the
bedroom. If he went, he still wouldn’t be able to kill her the way
he should. Instead, he’d only look at her, fill his mind with her
image, listen to her voice while trying not to pay attention to the
actual words. He had enjoyed the reverse strip tease a little too
much, enjoyed the look of raw lust that had bloomed on her face as
she watched him, and while his mind knew it was crazy, his body
longed for her touch. Would it be so bad if just once—

Glass shattered with a booming crash. Logan
jumped. Instinctively, he turned away from the noise, away from the
kitchen window, and covered his head with his arms.

“Come on, lover!” Olivia shouted in. “Let’s
get on with it!”

Logan’s heart jumped with a flash of fear,
instantly followed by anger. He looked at the broken glass on the
floor, sparkling edges of pain lying around his bare toes, then
raised his eyes to the window. Any hurried step he took now would
result in blood and pain; any rushed decision he made about Olivia
would only bring the same.

He felt a muscle tick in his cheek as he
forced himself to ignore her and carefully picked his way to the
broom and dustpan in the corner of the pantry. She continued to
shout at him, her voice more angry with each passing minute, but,
at least outwardly, he remained calm, even when she threw another
rock and broke a piece of glass still clinging to the window
frame.

Inside, he was seething. What did she expect
to gain from angering him?

“Are you too scared to face me?” she called,
her voice dripping with contempt. “You always knew I was better
than you, didn’t you? You realize what it means. You’re next,
honey. It’s just a matter of time. You can either come out or
I’ll—”

“Or you’ll do what? Glare at me until I
wither and die?”

She scowled, but it brought Logan no
satisfaction. Despite his mocking words and the strong front he
tried to maintain, something had broken inside Logan. He had known
she was better than he was. He did know that, sooner or later, it
would be his turn—to die or to be turned. He didn’t want to think
about which it would be. But he also knew that, before anything
else happened, he had to keep his promise. Dumping the glass into
the trash bin, he dropped the dustpan and broom and strode over to
the stove. A spark of pain radiated from the sole of his foot when
he stepped on a bit of glass he had missed. He clenched his teeth
and raised his foot to pull it out.

“First blood to me,” Olivia crowed. “Will
you—”

He grabbed the box of matches next to the
stove and threw it through the window as hard and as fast as he
could, but even so she caught it easily. She looked at it, then at
him, frowning.

“You want to kill me?” he said, keeping his
voice at a normal level even when he wanted nothing more than to
shout. “Go ahead. Burn our house, and me inside. Start a tradition
for summer bonfires.”

Her frown deepened. Her jaw clenched and she
pulled out a match. Logan’s body stiffened as he watched her,
waiting for her to strike the match and put an end to the dreams
they had built together in this home. After a few seconds, she
broke the lone match and dropped it and the box to the ground.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of fire,” he
taunted. “You’re a big bad vamp now. Surely a little bit of fire
doesn’t scare you?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for an instant, Logan
could have sworn they weren’t green anymore, but the color of burnt
amber. Was she angry, he wondered, or were other emotions tugging
at her heart?

“Or maybe you don’t really want to hurt me,”
he said, his voice gentler now. “You came here to see me, but
killing me? You could never do it.”

Deep down, he knew better than to believe a
word of what he was saying. They had learned this lesson together
in the Academy classrooms. After being turned, vampires couldn’t be
expected to retain any of the feelings or allegiances they had held
before changing. There were exceptions, there were stories, urban
legends, but the truth was that the first instinct of a vampire was
to take blood, and killing was not a concern to a hungry fledgling.
Logan knew it. He had known it would apply to Olivia, too, from the
second he had realized what had happened to her.

Still, he couldn’t let go of that tiny and
fragile thread of hope that was wrapped around his heart. Olivia
severed it with just a few words. Her scowl deepened before
vanishing abruptly. She sneered at Logan, baring her fangs for just
a second. “Keep telling yourself that, lover. We’ll see how long
you last.”

Turning around abruptly, she strode away. The
darkened yard swallowed her. Logan caught himself just before he
could call her back. What was wrong with him? He didn’t have a
death wish, and he wasn’t ready to stake her yet. It was better if
she left. Next time they met, maybe, he’d be able to…

His hands curled into fists, and he banged
them on the cabinet doors behind him. Who was he trying to fool?
Next time, nothing would be different. Nothing would ever be
different. He would love Olivia until the day he died, and nothing
would change that. Not threats, not fangs, not any pain she chose
to inflict on him.

He took a step to the side and again nicked
his foot on the broken glass he hadn’t finished sweeping up. His
back to the cabinets, he let himself slide down to sit on the
floor. Still looking at the shards of glass, he traced his finger
along the grout lines between the tiles she had picked.

It had been three years, almost four since
they had bought the house and renovated the kitchen. In his mind,
the memory was as fresh as if it had happened last week. The smell
of dust and broken plaster had been thick in the air when they had
torn the old kitchen apart with the help of a couple of friends.
Laughing, they had worked hard, tasting each other’s sweat in the
crook of a neck or the softness of a shoulder, while their friends
pretended not to notice. That night, when everyone had left, they
had washed dust and grime from each other, and—

With a groan, Logan pressed the heels of his
hands over his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep seeing
Olivia everywhere he looked. He couldn’t keep seeing her in that
vampire that wore her face like a mask—like an insult. He owed it
to her to be stronger, smarter than that.

Willing away the memories and his love, he
stood and cleaned up the glass debris more thoroughly than on his
first try. If there was a job to do, it had to be done fast and
right. As he threw the glass away, he looked out through the broken
window, his eyes searching the darkness. Was she truly gone? Would
he find her if he went after her?

There was only one way to find out.

His resolve renewed, he returned to the
bedroom, intending to pick up his boots and jacket. As soon as he
pushed the door open, he saw her. She was standing behind the open
window, her hands pressed against the immaterial barrier that kept
her out. She gave him a twisted smile. Logan’s determination
wavered. He paused on the threshold and watched her. Her clothes
were the same, cotton shirt and pants; her long, dark hair was
still gathered in a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck. But it
wasn’t his Olivia standing there anymore. With that thought echoing
through his mind, he finally stepped into the bedroom.

* * * *

“I was trying to decide what anniversary
present to get you. What would you prefer? The neighbor’s head or
her heart? Or maybe your parents’? I still have time to cross town
and come back.”

Olivia kept her eyes on Logan as she taunted
him, certain that she’d know when she crossed the line and finally
pushed him over. She was a little disappointed when his only
outward reaction was a snort.

“My parents know better than to let you
inside their house,” he said, not looking at her. He picked up the
laundry basket in the corner of the room and started throwing in
the clothes that had been scattered about. “So do the
neighbors.”

She shrugged the news off. She wasn’t really
surprised. It was standard procedure to immediately inform family
members as well as casual acquaintances when someone was turned
into a vampire. She wondered if he had done so himself or if he had
had someone else do it.

He stopped just in front of the open window,
his dark eyes scrutinizing her as he added, “And so do your
parents.”

Olivia braced herself for the emotions she
was sure would rise at these words. All she felt, however, was mild
curiosity. Who had said they knew this would happen first, her
mother or her father? It didn’t matter much anymore.

“Maybe I’ll visit them when I’m done here,”
she said, still trying to get a rise out of Logan. “See what the
food is like in Texas.”

Logan still didn’t react. His scent, however,
shifted abruptly when he picked up yet another item of clothing
from the floor. Olivia took an absentminded step forward, curious
as to why he smelled so… hurt, suddenly. She had first learned to
recognize this scent from the humans her Sire had brought her to
feed from. Thralled, the two young men had not felt any fear, but
her bite had caused them pain, and their scent had reflected
it.

She rubbed at her nose as she recognized the
lace-edged nightie she had slept in a few nights earlier. She
hadn’t known until now that mental anguish held the same bitter
scent as physical pain.

“Are you going to keep patrolling like this,
lover?” she asked, her voice raw and throaty. She tried to move a
little closer to Logan, only to be stopped, yet again, by the
protective barrier. “So depressed and wounded you can’t even see
straight?”

He threw a hard look at her, and maybe he was
trying to sound mocking, but he missed by a mile and only sounded
angry. “Seeing straight or not, I got Ann, didn’t I?” He shook his
head, his gaze hardening a little more. “Even you couldn’t do it.
But all it took me was two nights. Two nights of hunting one stupid
vamp—”

Before she even knew it, a growl rose from
deep in Olivia’s chest, from the same place where the pain of
losing her Sire was still tearing her apart. She had not
liked
Ann, but that didn’t matter to
the force inside her that only knew Ann as the person to whom she
owed her complete obedience, along with her existence.

“Careful, Logan,” she said, venom tinting her
words. “Insulting my Sire isn’t all that wise.”

He snorted, then shook his head and turned
his back on her. “Really?” he threw over his shoulder. “What are
you going to do? Threaten me some more?”

Without thinking, Olivia lashed out, hitting
the barrier of thin air with her fist. She could have sworn she
could feel the magic rippling beneath her skin. She growled again,
drawing Logan’s eyes back to her.

“She did that a lot, before I staked her,” he
said, almost idly. “Threatened me. Said she’d kill me as easily as
she had killed you.”

As hard as Olivia tried not to react in any
way at his words, she flinched. She wasn’t proud of her last fight
as a human. She had made stupid mistakes, let Ann get much too
close. She had no one to blame for her death but herself. Her Sire
had made sure she knew it, twisting the knife in only hours after
Olivia had awakened in her lair.

“Oh yes,” Logan said, triumphant. He must
have noticed his words had hit straight home; he had always been
able to read her face much too well to her liking. Now, he used
that to push his advantage. “She wasn’t all that complimentary
toward you. Kinda mean, actually. You sure you want to avenge
her?”

Pulling away from the window, Olivia made a
conscious effort to clear her face of emotions and let her arms
hang loose at her sides. She didn’t feel the calmness she was
trying to project, but she clung to it with all her might and even
managed to push a smile to her lips.

“I’m not here to avenge her.” Her smile
deepened a little to punctuate her words. “Funny you’d use that
word, though, lover. Is that what you did? Kill her to avenge me?
You must have been heartbroken, you poor thing.”

“I killed her because she was a killer,”
Logan replied at once, too fast, too loudly; whom was he trying to
convince? “You were only the last of her victims. And I’m not going
to be your first.”

It struck her suddenly that Logan shouldn’t
be doing this. He shouldn’t have been talking to her, arguing with
her, allowing her to goad him—even if that barrier stood between
them. They had learned this together at the Academy; they both knew
it was a mistake to engage a potentially violent vampire like this.
But if she could make him forget his training this far, maybe she’d
make him forget more, make him break other rules. After all, almost
from the moment they had met, he’d always been unable to resist
her.

* * * *

Olivia had dreamed of attending the Academy
and becoming a Special Enforcer for as long as she could remember.
Her parents had thought it was cute, at first, and they had often
made a joke out of it.

And this is our youngest,
Olivia
, they would say,
introducing the family to new friends.
She just turned six, but she already
knows what she wants to do when she’s a grown up. Go ahead, Olivia.
Tell them what you want to hunt.

By the time they understood it wasn’t all a
silly dream imagined by a child, to be forgotten by the time she
grew up, it had been too late to make her change her mind.

And by the time
she
understood that the reality of the Academy was far
different from the romantic idea she had imagined, giving up was
not an option anymore.