Page 35 of Fang Fiction

“No, actually. That’s exactly what I think too.” Tess offered him a small smile—the first time he’d seen her do so. “How do you know the poem so well?”

“Octavia and I had a lot of tutors growing up.” Callum shrugged. “Easy to remember the things you hate.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of the endless hours in Konstantin’s country manor, Octavia soaking up every bit of knowledge, charming the tutors—charming everyone, really—while all Callum ever wanted to do was get outside and run, hunt, explore the wild countryside that was so utterly different from the smoky streets of London where he’d spent his entire childhood. Everyone loved Octavia. But only Octavia loved Callum.

“So why’d you give up your studies, then?” he asked, trying to force his mind back into the conversation that had distracted him from his grief for all of two minutes. “You left school to work in a hotel?”

“Oh.” Tess folded her arms, all evidence of happiness suddenly evaporated. “Just burned out, I guess. You know, academia.”

She was clearly finished talking. So now he’d managed to foul up his distraction too—terrific. Luckily, their walk was nearly over: He pointed toward a path up ahead that led into the forest.

“This is the path we take to the graveyard.”

Tess pressed her lips together and nodded.

“It’s more than likely vampires will be out hunting in the forest,” he went on. “It’s better if they don’t see us at all, and we’re only half a mile or so from the graveyard. It’ll be much faster if I carry you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he reached for her waist, but she shrunk back in terror, hunching forward and covering her body with her arms.

“Oh, go on, I’m not going to hurt you,” he groused. But her whole face had changed, drained of blood, wide-eyed and quivering—she looked even more terrified now than she had in the compound’s entry. He felt a sudden need to protect her that he couldn’t explain; she wasn’t in any danger.

“Hey.” His voice was softer, and he approached her slowly. “Really. You don’t have to be afraid.”

She swallowed and squared her shoulders, her face hardening.

“I’m not afraid,” she insisted, though her voice was small. “You just surprised me.”

Brave little shit, wasn’t she? He extended an arm and waited for her to take his hand. She did so tentatively, and he was overwhelmed by the thrum of her pulse beating in her wrist. He could bring that wrist to his mouth in less than a moment, sink his fangs into her and drink. After a few seconds, she’d even like it—the fear would subside, and she’d give herself over to the pleasure of fuzzy lightheadedness covering her like a warm blanket until she lost consciousness. He imagined her soft body going slack against him, drinking from her pale neck as her head lolled on his shoulder.

“Well?” Tess asked expectantly. He jerked his mind into the present moment.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He pulled her toward him, then looped his arm around her waist. Her heart was pounding—he forced himself not to think about the blood whooshing through her body, nor about how soft and warm she felt pressed against him. This would be over quickly. He barely had time to breathe in the scent of her hair—bergamot and violets—before they arrived in the graveyard where Octavia disappeared.

Tess didn’t quite have the words to describe how it felt to have Callum carry her half a mile in a matter of seconds. She was still queasy from her encounter with Tristan, and terror had flooded through her when Callum went to grab her without warning. God, she must have looked so stupid to him, so helpless, completely at the mercy of this ornery, judgmental, infuriating creature.

The fact that she was completely at his mercy only made this feeling worse.

But then, when she took his hand and he pulled her against him, and she felt the firm grasp of his arms, the broad planes of his chest, he paused for a moment, and she was sure he could feel her heart pounding. She knew she ought to be afraid, but somehow, his hold on her felt safe—even comforting.

Anyway, all that went right out of her head the moment they started moving.

It was like the sound of a machine gun in a movie, except a pounding Tess could feel in her body, the explosive pop of every step Callum took thrumming through her as he sped through the forest so quickly her eyes watered and the trees blurred. When he set her down in the graveyard, her knees buckled and she gasped for breath—she clung to him for a moment so she wouldn’t slump to the ground.

“Not your favorite mode of transport?” He smirked at her, and she scowled in return.

“Where’s the angel statue?” She stood up straight as her dizziness subsided. The graveyard was large and sprawling; winding paths were shadowed by live oaks draped with Spanish moss, the headstones ancient and crumbling. As a former scholar of the supernatural, Tess usually loved all things old and eerie. But when they presented so many excellent hiding places for creatures who’d drain her blood in an instant if they knew she was human, she wasn’t eager to stay here a minute longer than absolutely necessary.

“I think it’s in the northeastern part?” Callum scratched at his chin. They scanned the graveyard for a moment, until Callum spotted a pair of wings rising above a headstone. “There.”

They approached the statue slowly. It was beautiful and strange, the wings slightly too large to be proportionate to the body, the nose chipped off, the eyes sad and longing, an opening in the trees above positioned just so to cast the angel in a focused beam of silver moonlight.

“Now what?” Callum asked, examining the statue from every angle.

“I’m not sure,” Tess admitted. “But I know Octavia was touching the statue when she crossed over—so maybe you have to do that?”

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” Callum pressed. “Eleven years on this island, and all I had to do to leave was touch some bloody statue?”

“If you don’t believe me, you don’t have to touch it.” Tess shrugged.