The Vampire's Fall. Michele Hauf

      She wondered if he would flinch if she tried to touch his soft hair. She sensed that would be his first reaction. And then she wanted to test that theory because pushing him to his unknown boundaries felt important to her. To see if he could stand up to any challenge.

      Because if pushed maybe he’d reveal his lies. That perhaps he clung to the fantasy of being a strange creature for reasons that helped him survive in this world. Or maybe it was simply that he watched too many movies. Believed women would go for the brooding vampire act. Ugh.

      She tilted her head aside, her reflection tracing a finger down her neck. A vampire. Did he want to bite her? What would that feel like? Orgasmic, her knowledge provided on a whisper. And what was orgasmic? Had she ever had the experience of sex?

      She didn’t know. And that frustrated immensely.

      She hadn’t learned anything about herself out in the field yesterday. And maybe she had. Demons had been after her? Incredulous. She should have stopped to say goodbye to the old lady.

      Why was he making up such an elaborate ruse? For what reason the lie? No, he was being truthful. And to test that theory she’d have to see proof.

      “Fangs,” she muttered.

      And once he had to confess to a lack of such telling signs of vampirism, then she could move forward. Both of them could.

      Nodding once, she turned off the bathroom light and found Blade waiting with two cups of coffee in hand.

      “Dark?” she asked.

      “As black as I could get it.”

      She glanced to the backpack. It was unopened. He hadn’t snooped. Not that she had anything to hide. Just a bunch of stolen charity clothing and that weird tin circle. And her roll of cash. His cash. Yet she didn’t feel as if she owed him for that generous gift. Was it because she couldn’t recall if she was the sort of person who had guilt?

      Sitting on the bed, she shuffled closer toward the head by the pillows when Blade sat not three feet from her. Inviting him in may have been a stupid idea. She’d hoped it a means to allow him to confess. Did the victim invite the serial killer in so easily?

      “I need some proof,” she said. “That you are what you say you are.”

      “Will that make you believe?”

      “Of course.” Or it would make him believe. One way or another, this was going to get settled.

      “So you are not a woman of faith?”

      “I don’t know.” She tapped her head. “Not all there, remember?”

      “What kind of proof are you asking for?”

      She set the coffee mug on the wood bedside table that looked as though it had been carved from an oak stump. “Whatever kind you’re willing to offer.”

      She didn’t want him to be crazy. She really did not.

      Sliding closer on the bed, she raised her hand to touch his hair, then decided against it. “Fangs?”

      “If that’s what you need? I can do that.”

      Blade tilted his head back and closed his eyes. And when he rolled his head around, his nose drew along her cheek. Her skin tingled at the barely there touch. It seemed as if he was scenting her. And when the tip of his nose dusted her earlobe she felt her nipples tighten and couldn’t decide whether to delight or be afraid of that feeling. Curling her fingers, she closed her eyes as a mix of anxiety and breathless anticipation stirred in her core.

      A sharpness slid along her neck. Zen gasped in a breath. What the—? Blade’s hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. His mouth was barely parted, yet bright white fangs jutted over his lower lip.

      “Holy... How did you put those in so fast?”

      “I didn’t put them in. They are my teeth.” A wide grin revealed his fangs rising to sit even with his upper teeth, and then again, they descended into the long, pointed, gleaming weapons. “You wanted proof.”

      “But... That means...” He was telling the truth? That was incredible. Impossible. Freaky. Real? “Oh, mercy.”

      Zen raced for the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

      After a few seconds a rap sounded on the wood door. “Zen?”

      “I’m good!” she called. “Just need a few minutes to process.”