Page 74 of Only Fangs

“No, you were amazing.” He picks me up and spins me around. I squeal and try to bat him away but my efforts are half hearted. He puts me down gently. “Do you think we did enough?” he asks, his voice soft.

“I don’t think we could have done anything more.” And I’m not lying. Secretly I think we smashed it out of the park, but I’m trying to at least keep a thin veneer of the demure and mindful. Otherwise I might start singing from the rooftops. And that type of overexuberant behaviour is definitely not the vampire way. There’s something about spending time with Brody that brings me out of myself, that makes me feel that there’s a whole world out there.

A whole world full of possibilities. Full of hope.

Chapter 38

Brody

She knocks on my door at six thirty so we can head down to the gala together.

I almost faint when I see her. She looks stunning. Perfection incarnate.

It’s her hair that I notice first. Normally she wears it long and loose and it has this slight wave to it, but tonight it’s glossy and shiny and the curl is more pronounced, with a section pinned back from her face to really highlight her cheekbones. Her dress is cut from a dark purple silk, sweeping down to the floor as it hugs her hips, cut low at the front and with tiny thin straps. She’s taller than normal, the stiletto heels she’s wearing making her legs look fantastically long.

She looks like a classic movie star; classy, immaculate and self-assured. She knows exactly how gorgeous she is. Next to her I feel an awkward lumpy mess. Like I’m made of clay that’s been handled by an inexperienced hand, misshapen and overworked.

“You look very handsome,” she tells me as she leans in to kiss my cheek. I breathe in the scent of her, like warm summer rain with a hint of spice. She does the same and then takes a step back. “You smell like vampire.” She sounds almost disappointed.

“It’s Ivan’s suit, and he lent me some of his cologne.” Apparently it’s a brand that vampires love but is too subtle for a human to smell. It was weird applying it, like I was splashing myself with a tiny bit of vodka, all alcohol but nothing more.

“Oh.” Yes, definitely disappointment there. “I recognise the suit now you’ve said it.” She reaches out to finger the lapel.

“I didn’t have anything that was white tie.” I feel like a child, a kid who needed to borrow an outfit because he wasn’t adult enough to have his own. I hate feeling like this. Inadequate. Inexperienced. Not worthy of her time or attention. And certainly not worthy of the smile she’s bestowing on me.

“It suits you,” she says, and then she raises her index finger and motions for me to give her a twirl.

I oblige, feeling my cheeks burn as I do so.

We drink champagne and chat to some of the investors. There’s a buzz in the air, a sense of excitement, like anything might happen.

Clara comes to find us, a bottle of champagne in one hand and three flutes in the other. “I pilfered some of the really good stuff from Daddy’s cellar,” she says as she pours some into a glass, catching the overflowing foam in her mouth.

Ari takes the bottle to inspect the label and then lets out a loud whistle. “This is the really really good stuff,” she says.

“Only the best for you two.”

I take a sip. It’s… well… I’m not actually sure if I like it any better than the random brand Mum and Dad get from Aldi at Christmas when they’re pretending to be fancy.

Ari leans in to whisper in my ear. “That bottle is probably worth three grand.” She says it with more than a hint of scandal. And it is truly scandalous that there’s a single bottle of champagne in the world that costs more than my rent for three months.

But obviously I don’t say anything in that vein, and instead paste a smile on my face. “It’s nice.”

“It isn’t,” Clara says as she takes a sip. “It tastes like rats’ piss.” She puts her glass and the bottle down on a side table. “I’m going to find something half decent.” she stalks away from us.

Ari shakes her head a little as she watches her friend. “Sometimes I think we are entirely separate species,” she says softly.

“I am an entirely separate species,” I reply dryly.

“Touché.” Then she turns to face me. “But I feel more like you than I do Clara right now.”

I don’t know if it was the words themselves, or the way she looked at me as she said them, but a warm feeling stretches through my belly. “Shall we find some more of the cheap stuff?” I ask her and offer up my arm.

“That sounds delightful,” she replies as she threads a hand through my arm. “It’s still five hundred quid a bottle though,” she adds with an air of nonchalance.

“And a bargain at half the price.”

She smiles. “You know that makes no sense, right?”