Page 60 of Fangbanger

The mayor opens his mouth to argue, expression ugly. I brace myself for he’ll say, half certain I deserve it, half resentful that his family put me in this position.

Dawn lays a hand on her father’s arm. “Done,” she says. “For what it’s worth, Leah, I won’t forget, but I know you did what needed to be done.”

I sag in relief, throat tight.

Marcus leans forward and snaps the mayor’s jaw shut with a single finger before he grabs my hand and flashes us back home.

An hour later, I have learned my lesson—never take an immortal vampire to Costco. Marcus is mobbed, as predicted. I want to start filming. One woman asks him if he’ll get something down for her, and when his t-shirt rides up and she catches a glimpse of his stomach, she fans herself and rapidly decides she needs another box of soda.

I laugh into my elbow and he glares at me. And then he bumps his hat into a shelf and turns it backward. The laugh dies in my throat.

Goddess.

He’s too handsome to be real.

The woman to my left gives me a sympathetic shake of her head. “Can’t be easy,” she says. “My husband, rest in peace, was a ladies’ man too.”

I give her a mute nod, trying not to laugh, then direct Marcus to the appliances.

“What was she saying?” He pushes the cart with one hand, looking pleased at the spoils, as he calls them. He is equally pleased by the sizes of everything. He seems unusually concerned about a siege. When we picked up coffee, he glanced at my face, then hefted the largest bag onto his shoulder and dumped all fifty pounds of it into the cart.

“Just saying I should be careful because you’re such a ladies’ man.”

He smirks. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I slide him a look. “I should leave you here. See if you survive.”

He waves a hand in the air before his gaze hardens.

“What?” I turn to see a guy checking me out. He gives me a sheepish little smile, and a rumble dredges up from Marcus’s chest. I squeeze the hard muscle of Marcus’s biceps. “No eating humans in Costco,” I hiss.

“What about after Costco?” His eyes are silvering.

I reach for a coffee maker on the top shelf, and the vampire’s hand lands on mine. His other hand grips my waist.

“Let me,” he coaxes. Normally, I’d argue, tell him I’m okay, that I’ve done this myself a hundred times. But I like the way he feels against me—firm muscle, bigger than me, broader and so very capable. He hefts the box down, examines the price and the ratings on the side.

“World’s best espresso maker.” His eyes narrow. “For four hundred and ninety-nine human dollars? Is that a lot?”

“To me.”

He gives me a considering glance before he scans the shelf. His smile is edged. “That one.”

“That’s professional quality and over one thousand dollars.”

“Is that a lot?” He winks before I can respond, then grabs it and sets it gently in the cart. He looks all too pleased with himself, and I have a traitorous thought—I could get used to this.

I wouldn’t mind having him around. I wouldn’t mind his jealousy or the staring. I think I might really like keeping him.

39

MARCUS

The slayer is quiet as she cooks. I watch her, content to admire her capable hands as she pounds the dough into submission. The little black cat who refused to leave watches her too, from her spot in the living room near the fire I helped set earlier. Leah grumbled about keeping her and refused to give her a name. She even tried to shoo the cat out the door, but the little queen gave Leah a disdainful look and curled up on the sofa. I hid my laugh, having known many cats like her in my time, and Leah shot me annoyed glances. Later, I caught her petting the cat when I wasn’t looking.

We have two more nights. I know Leah’s thinking about it too. She seemed heavier as she selected bags of candy at Costco. I saw her looking at the calendar on her wall.

When the new moon rises, my brother will come. I’ll kill him and then I’ll disappear forever. No more watching the slayer angrily bake…whatever it is that lump of dough will become. Only one more sunset with her in my arms. No more Costco trips or silly outfits from the box or intimidating the locals into respecting her. No more bumpy rides in her old truck with bad music. I won’t even get to see what she names the cat.