Page 13 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

He looked like a vampire—pale and hungry and way too good-looking. Those dark-rimmed eyes, that red mouth.

"When do we do the teeth?"

I grimaced. “Uh. Let’s do those last. They'll probably be annoying as hell by the time the night’s over.”

I watched him study his reflection, tilting his head, touching his cheekbone. I felt… proud. I did that. I made him look like that.

He stood and reached for the pirate shirt I'd laid out for him. He pulled it on, the white fabric loose against his chest.

"Oh yeah," he said, looking in the mirror. "I can see it."

"Wait." I grabbed the velvet jacket from the bed. "This is the killer piece.”

He shrugged it on. The lavender-gray looked perfect against his pale makeup and dark lips. It was a little tight across his shoulders, but he filled it out in a way I never had.

He was grinning at his reflection. "Well, it's either Louis or a lost member of Duran Duran."

I chuckled. "You look hot."

He turned and looked right at me. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes." The word came out thick, almost slurred.

His eyes stayed on mine, and I held my breath. Then something shifted in his expression, and he turned back to the mirror.

I saw myself standing there behind him in my boxers, watching him, my eyes shining. I looked like I could eat him alive.

He started to shrug the jacket off—it was getting hot in the small room—and looked at the bed where I’d laid out my own gear. “So what are you gonna wear?”

"I’m going with the modern rock-star Lestat. From the beginning of the second book. It’s easier to pull off. And it’s all about the hair anyway.”

He nodded. "That'll work."

I rushed through my own transformation while Nathan rolled us cigarettes and made us bourbon and cokes. I'd refused to drink until I'd finished his makeup. I’d needed steady hands. Now I needed the opposite.

I took a long swallow of the drink he handed me, then took out the braid and shook my hair out into loose waves. My makeup was rougher than his, faster, but it still worked. Dark eyes, pale skin, red mouth.

I pulled on my black jeans and a black silk button-down. I didn’t have motorcycle boots, but my Docs would do.

We glued on the fangs together, baring our teeth at each other like idiots until the glue set. Nathan fumbled with his, couldn't get the angle right.

"Here." I took the fang and pressed it onto his canine—my thumb against his tooth, his mouth open and waiting. "Hold still. Let it set."

He made a sound. Almost a laugh, trapped behind my thumb.

It was too much—me reaching into his mouth, his spit on my finger, him just letting me do it. It felt like a secret we weren't supposed to have.

I let go and reached for my leather jacket, throwing it on over the silk shirt.

We stood together in front of the mirror.

We didn't look exactly like Louis and Lestat. I'd mixed the time periods—Louis all old-world velvet and ruffles, me doing Lestat's twentieth-century look. But we went together. We looked like we belonged next to each other.

He said, "We need to let somebody take our picture."

I snorted at the lisp the fangs gave him, but I agreed. We looked too good not to.

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