Page 90 of Fang Fatale

“That’s not...that’s not nothing.”

No.

It isn’t.

No one has ever thanked me for making them feel safe.

Terrified?

Frequently.

Safe?

Never.

For the first time in over a century, I honestly don’t know what to say.

“So,” I manage, “does this earn me a medal?”

She laughs.

“A coupon for free therapy?”

“That too.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

Silence settles between us.

Not awkward.

Comfortable.

Birdie leans against the truck door and folds her arms, studying me like I’m a particularly confusing chapter in a mystery novel.

“So, Alaric Grimhaven,” she says. “Vampire. Professional fugitive. Savior of damsels in distress.”

I sigh dramatically.

“I was hoping that title wouldn’t catch on.”

“What if I told you I’m not a damsel?”

My eyes drift over her before I can stop them.

“I noticed.”

“Then why are you still here?”

That should have an easy answer.

It doesn’t.

I reach into the truck for my jacket instead, my arm brushing hers.

“Give me your arm.”