Page 124 of Hoofin’ It

The towel would have been more useful wrapped around her instead of serving as a bandage. “You’re naked,” I slurred.

Abil Ili must have done something to his secretions, something that made my tongue feel thick and unwieldy in my mouth. Or, perhaps not. It might’ve been the blood loss. How much blood did I have to spare? If I kept losing it, I’d end up in the hospital again for sure.

“Shane,” she complained, her tone so exasperated I laughed.

“Warning him would have made it hurt more.” The Babylonian offered no apology in word or tone, which amused me even more.

“How long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes.” Marian glared at Abil Ili. “Quinton, stop eating those oranges and, for fuck’s sake, stop laughing.”

“They’re grapes.”

“Grapes aren’t orange. Those—”

Quinton popped an orange grape in Marian’s mouth. “Grapes.”

She chewed, her eyes widening. “It tastes like a peach.”

Setting the tray next to me, the vampire picked up a fresh cluster of the fruit and handed it to her. “Feed those to your man. They’re loaded full of things good for him.”

“He is right. For vampires, it is as nourishing as a blood meal. For humans, it is nutritious and filling.” Abil Ili picked up a fruit that looked like a kiwi but was deep red, snapping the tip of his beak into it to slice open the skin. Between his claws and his beak, he made short work of the peel to get to the pale pink flesh within. “After you eat, you can tell me the story of what brought you to here and why someone would want to kill you, a child of Ernesto’s heart.”

While I could have fed myself, I wouldn’t complain if Marian wanted to feed me. I showed my appreciation for her attentions with a careful application of teeth on her fingers and a smile. She was right. The orange grapes tasted like peach, so juicy they burst in my mouth. If I’d been alone, I would have spent a great deal of time playing with them, amused by the contradictions in its appearance, its taste, and its texture.

The Babylonian spoke the truth; eating only a few eased my hunger and soothed the dryness in my mouth.

“They’re so cute together it’s disgusting, isn’t it?” Quinton muttered.

“He seems to be enjoying himself despite his recent inconveniences.”

“There’s a naked woman feeding him grapes while she’s lounging on top of him. Of course he’s enjoying himself. Had I known her clothes were hiding such a lovely lady, I might’ve been less eager to support their pairing. Now I’ll never have a chance with her. The universe is an unfair place.”

Marian’s left hand slithered down my chest, probably to retrieve one of my Rugers.

“You can’t kneecap him today, Marian. I already told him you’d get a turn with him later.”

She sighed and fed me another grape-orange-peach which I’d call a delicious devil berry for the rest of my life. “So you owe Abil Ili a story?”

“Yes. I promised to tell him everything that happened since New York.”

“I should start, then.” Rolling off me, she stretched beside me, oblivious to her nudity, keeping her right hand and her towel pressed to my shoulder. “My name is Marian Peterson, and I’m an FBI agent. My work, until recently, involved infiltrating sex trafficking operations so they could be dismantled. I was undercover as a young, vulnerable woman driven to prostitution—someone with no friends or family to miss her, out on the streets.”

The thought of her alone that way made me growl like my father, but before I could say a word, Marian shoved a handful of the delicious devil berries in my mouth and pressed her palm to my lips.

“In her hands, anything is a weapon, I’m convinced of it,” Quinton whispered.

“Anyway, our plan worked a little too well. We hadn’t expected the sex traffickers to have practitioners capable of non-permanent full-body transformative magic. Instead of a woman, they were transporting an alpaca and could cross state lines without permit or quarantine. I’d been in their custody for three days. They bound me with duct tape, put me in a car, and planned to drive me out of New York. That’s when the body fell off the skyscraper and hit the car I was in.”

Lowering her hand from my mouth, she kissed me, and I made an appreciative sound in my throat. “Your turn,” she murmured. “And I won’t bite you for saying that name for the rest of this conversation.”

“So merciful.” Laughing, I stole one of the berries and fed it to her. “I suppose my part of the story starts a little earlier, when I lost my right eye. I was a cop, mostly working traffic and foot patrols, when the call came reporting a bad accident. My partner and I arrived first. He froze. I didn’t. The car was burning with three people inside, one a child. I pulled him out first, then I got his parents out. It cost me my eye.” I paused to pop another berry into my mouth, chewing to buy myself a few moments. “I knew the injury would end my career, so I decided to go away for a while—see other cities, maybe find somewhere I might like to live. Somewhere a little cheaper, a little less prejudiced against lycanthropes. Somewhere I might be able to get something better than minimum wage.”

“It’s worse than he makes it sound,” Quinton helpfully supplied.

I missed my false eye; without it, I couldn’t shoot him my worst glare. “Thanks, Quinton. I was trying to look on the bright side.”

“Do not do so on my account. The unvarnished truth allows full understanding.”