Page 47 of Only Fangs

I feel like such a fool.

Brody has gone. I can’t stand to be around all that joie de vivre. He was driving me crazy with all his “it’s only a minor setback” and “there’s still plenty of options” and “it isn’t over until the fat lady sings” bullcrap.

It’s a major setback.

There are no options.

It’s over. The fat lady has completed her song, taken off her makeup and is now enjoying a large glass of merlot.

Hmm a large glass of merlot sounds pretty good right now. I might even forgo the glass and save on washing up.

I wake up to find the light streaming onto my face and I immediately cover my delicate skin with the blanket.

Safely ensconced, I take a tentative sniff of the air. It smells like vanilla. And the blanket is soft against my skin. I’m not at home.

The realisation causes me to jolt upright. Where the hell am I?

But of course I’m at Clara’s. Somewhere I’ve woken up too many times to count. I sink back into the cushions. Everything’s fine. I’m safe.

Except I have no memory of getting here.

Clara screams when she walks into the living room. “Jesus Christ,” she says when she realises it’s me. The arm which was clutched tight across her chest relaxes. “I thought I was having an episode.”

There was a mass hysteria event in the vampire community back towards the end of the nineteenth century when a whole town of vampires suddenly started seeing phantoms in their homes. People who couldn’t possibly have gotten inside were just sitting in their chairs or pacing up and down their hallways. No one ever figured out what caused it, but Clara went into total Sherlock Holmes mode, desperate to be the one to solve the riddle. She’s been obsessed with it ever since, convinced that one day it’ll happen again and she’ll inextricably be right at the heart of it.

“Didn’t you know I was here?” I ask. Although I have a key so technically I can let myself in whenever I want to, I still don’t just sneak in. It would be weird and obtrusive and… well… rude. Besides, why would I come here if I didn’t want to gossip with Clara?

“I was out late,” Clara says quietly. “I didn’t check if you were in here before I went to bed.”

“Makes sense. I must have come in and then realised you were out so I…” I stop talking as I look down and see a bottle of expensive whisky on the floor. I must have helped myself. I grimace slightly.

“Whatever,” she waves her hand as if to say she doesn’t care.

“Where were you anyway?” I ask, desperate to change the topic. She might seem cool about the whisky but I feel guilty and I don’t like it.

“Oh, nowhere,” she says. “Shall I make coffee?”

“Nowhere?” I raise my eyebrows.

“It was nothing. Now, coffee?”

There’s something she’s not telling me. If she’d been on a date she would have told me every gory detail. If she’d been out with Ivan she would have invited me along. Where the hell was she?

But as I make my way towards the kitchen and the smell of brewing beans, I spot the invitation on the side table in the hallway. A gala evening of Sanguis and excellent company is written in a curling script across the top. Obviously some kind of fancy vampire event. The invite is addressed to Clara Hele and Luca Roșu. Luca is the Transylvanian prince she’s been betrothed to since she was a kid. Why is she going to gala evenings with the man she’s desperate not to marry?

I place it on the kitchen table in front of her.

She sighs loudly. “Daddy insisted.” She rolls her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, hurt that she hasn’t shared this with me.

“Because it was boring and bullshit and I only went to stop Daddy from moaning at me.”

“But you’re still asking for the extension?”

“Of course.” She grips me by the shoulders, her eyes boring into mine. “I’m going to take all the time I can possibly get.”

“Promise?” I’m not ready to lose her yet.