Page 67 of Fangs with Benefits

‘Some humans aren’t meant to be vampires,’ I say. ‘There’s no way to know if the change will take until it’s too late.’

Molly fills her cheeks up with air then exhales. ‘That’s brutal. Did your mother know? When she turned you all.’

‘No.’ I’m confident she didn’t know the risk, though I think if she had it wouldn’t have swayed her. The possibility of forever with her children was easier for her to swallow than her living on while the rest of us aged and died one by one like our father had. Evangeline had been married at the time, another of the house staff–the tutor of the children of the manor–and when she confessed to him what she’d become, he tried to have her, and the rest of us, killed.

This is when we learned the powers of compulsion. Evangeline mourned the man she loved after she made him forget her existence. It took centuries for her to come to trust humans again.

‘Have you ever made another vampire?’ Molly asks. I place the final peeled orange on Molly’s napkin, knowing she’ll save them for after her sandwich but before the cookie.

‘I tried, once.’

Molly winces, her face apologetic at my meaning. ‘Was it, by chance, about a hundred years ago?’

I offer what I can manage of a smile. ‘Ever perceptive.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘For whatever happened. It couldn’t have been easy.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ I tell her. ‘Your grandparents’ parents might not have been born yet.’

‘And you’ve been alone since?’

I clench my jaw while I try to formulate a response. ‘Not completely alone. But yes, I’ve been in a bit of stasis. A holding pattern.’

Molly frowns then nudges the toe of my shoe with hers. ‘Glad you made your way out of it,’ she says. ‘Though, you have a way to go before I declare you fully human-passing.’

‘Is it still so obvious?’ I ask, resting my chin on my fist. The scent of citrus lingers on my fingers.

Molly pinches my pinkie finger on the table, a small gesture, but I’m touched by the simple display. ‘I’ve never seen anyone that looks like you.’

‘That bad?’ I joke.

‘You know you’re handsome, don’t pretend.’

I preen under her compliment. I’d like to hold her hand across the table, but that would be too much, too far, too romantic. I need to remind myself what we are and what we aren’t.

Friends, Elijah, Molly loves to remind me when she thinks I’m looking at her with too much emotion. This isn’t a romantic entanglement, it’s a platonic one with physical perks. I have to remind myself of this when she tucks yellow curls behind her ears and I have to clench my fists to not do it for her.

On the table, Molly’s phone buzzes with a message, and she peers at the screen to read the summary before she sighs with fanfare.

‘What happened?’

‘Ryan asked if I’d get one of the boardrooms set up for an afternoon workshop on thirteen.’ Molly pops half of a little orange into her mouth and types back a response.

‘I’ll help you,’ I tell her. Her eyes spark with mischief and she grins.

In the boardroom we are tasked with setting up for the executives coming in after lunch. Someone’s left a bag of sour candy on the table. Molly gasps, swiping it.

‘The executive floor gets all the good snacks,’ she murmurs, tearing the little bag open and pouring a few multicoloured candies onto her palm.

Molly is an indiscriminate candy lover–an indiscriminate food lover, really–and I don’t know that I could ever tire of her enthusiasm.

She holds one up for me to see, a red bear shape covered in a fine white dust.

‘Sour gummy bear,’ she says, then pops it into her mouth. Her lips purse as she chews, then eats another.

I should be doing what she instructed me to do–setting up the cameras, making sure they’re all connected and in working order. But I’m captivated by the moving of her mouth as she chews, the light in her eyes.

‘Have you ever tasted one?’ she asks.