Page 41 of Fang Fiction

“Oh, I see.” Octavia walked over to the bench and gave the sleeping bag a little pat, like she was testing a mattress in a store. “That’s very thoughtful.”

She sat, grateful not just for the softness, but also to have something between her lovely new clothes and whatever grime existed on that bench. Joni pulled a thermos out of one of her grocery bags, along with a couple of plastic cups.

“Do you want some wine?” she asked.

“I don’t know. How much did it cost?”

“Man, you really are a snob.” Joni smiled good-naturedly. “Not much, but it’s really good—it’s a fizzy red from Languedoc, kinda fresh, kinda messy? Try it.”

Joni handed Octavia her wine; they clinked cups and took a sip. The wine was lovely—juicy and tart on Octavia’s palate, bright and herbaceous with an undercurrent of something darker. It tasted like being in France, moody and alive.

“Good, right?” Joni was grinning at Octavia’s obviously positive reaction.

“It is.” Octavia rewarded the girl with the barest hint of a smile. “I like it quite a bit.”

“I love a sparkling red, how they get all frothy in the glass, kinda makes me feel like I’m a vampire.” Joni laughed. “Not that it’s the same as blood, obviously—oh shit, are you hungry? Should I have like gone to a blood bank or a butcher or something? I’m not really familiar with vampire etiquette.”

“I’m perfectly capable of securing my own meals, thanks.” Octavia gave Joni a pointed look and took another sip of wine.

“Oh. Does that mean, like—are you expecting that we, I mean—”

Octavia looked at the poor bumbling girl and repressed a smile. She considered toying with her a bit, letting Joni think Octavia really did plan on drinking her blood. And come to think of it, she was so young, so eager, she’d probably let Octavia feed, and it would probably be delicious…

“No.” Octavia cleared her throat. “You’re helping me, and I don’t feed on people I plan to see again.”

“Really?” Joni looked surprised. “I thought that feeding was like…intimate?”

“It can be.” Octavia shrugged. “Some vampires choose to have close relationships with humans, and feeding can factor in to that. But I’ve never seen the point. I never stay in one place long, humans age and I don’t, they have needs I can’t meet and vice versa.”

“Couldn’t you make a human into a vampire though? Like not even for romantic reasons, just if you liked them and cared about them and wanted them to stick around?”

“No,” Octavia said flatly. “Callum and I don’t sire new vampires.”

“I’m sorry.” Joni sat back against the bench. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Octavia forced her tone into something lighter. “It’s just that we didn’t have a choice in becoming vampires, and our sire was…”

“Konstantin.” Joni finished the sentence.

“Those damn books,” Octavia muttered. “You probably know more about my life than I do.”

“No, come on,” Joni demurred. “First of all, the books only cover six years on the Isle, and you’ve been alive for more than a century. And second, they’re just one author’s opinion about you, not the totality of who you are.”

“One author whose work you’ve read over, and over, and over—”

“They’re really good books!” Joni gave an exasperated little sigh, and Octavia felt a twist of pleasure at having riled her.

“Who’s your favorite character?” Octavia asked with genuine curiosity. “Don’t say me, I’ll know you’re lying.”

Joni flushed red. “Ugh, it is you.”

“No, it’s not,” Octavia needled.

“It is!” Joni protested. “I even wrote a damn paper about you. It helped form the foundation of my dissertation about feminine qualities in hero archetypes.”

“Really?” Octavia raised an eyebrow. “What did you write about me?”

Joni looked excited, but also a little embarrassed. “How you have these very feminine markers, namely the focus on fashion. But how that doesn’t deter from your strength at all? Like just because you wanted to wear an ostrich feather minidress didn’t mean you wouldn’t kick the shit out of some guy while wearing it, you know?”