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God, he wanted to lick it off.
He must’ve given it away. Not from the gleam in his eyes—the mirrored sunglasses would’ve hidden that—but maybe the way his jaw went tight? Something. His fangs burned, begging to lengthen, and it took everything he had to keep them short with the blonde temptation quirking her eyebrows at him.
“Thirsty?” she asked.
More like he was hungry.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, turning off the car before palming his keys. “And, yeah, stupid fucking question. I know. I’m a Nightwalker and you’re—”
“I’m a slayer,” she agreed, snapping her gum with a grin. “No matter where we go, it’s safe so long as we’ve got our weapons. A witch might have magic, but they need time to get a spell off. That’s the good thing about Venice. In the right hands, she can even beat a witch.”
“Venice?”
Tabby reached down to the scabbard resting in her lap. She pulled on the hilt, sliding the long etched dagger out of its sheath. It was about five inches wide, close to ten inches long.
The same weapon he saw her wearing when she was hunting the Nightwalker the other night.
“A cinquedea dagger. I call her Venice because that’s where this type of weapon got its start. She’s been with me since I graduated from training. I’ve known her longer than most people in my life. Might as well give her a name. Ready?”
Adam nodded, still thinking about what she said.
She had a point, he decided. He might not have named his sidearm or anything like that, but when he had to hand that and his badge over to his former sergeant when he quit the force, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a tug in his gut.
Tabby slid her blade back in its holder, fastening it to her belt as she opened her door and climbed out of her seat. Adam made sure he had his own blade—unlike Tabby, he usually stowed it in a hidden ankle sheath instead of visibly on his waist—and paid attention to what he was doing with his keys. As soon as he stepped out of the car, he engaged the lock button just in case, then tucked the keys in his front pocket.
He’d never been so anal retentive about his keys before. And then, last winter when they were working on the task force, he accidentally dropped them and didn’t realize that Colton Wolfe had picked them up until he also discovered his car was gone.
Having to walk halfway through Grayson before he could call one of his old cop buddies to pick his ass up like he was some damsel in distress had done a number on him. Since then, it was keys, phone, wallet, dagger, and keys one more time for good luck before he went anywhere with his car.
He patted his front pocket, assuring himself that his keys had stayed put, then glanced around at the empty darkness. No one else was around for miles. He couldn’t hear anyone, or sense them, either.
It was just him and Tabby.
They had left early, giving them plenty of time to make the drive out, and there was still an hour to go until Tabby’s contact was supposed to appear. Adam crossed his arms over his chest, leaning up against the side of his coupe. Tabby blew another bubble—this one only about a quarter of the size of the previous one—then hopped up to sit on the trunk of Adam’s car.
He didn’t even bother telling her to get down. Tabby Winslow was going to do what Tabby Winslow wanted. Who was he to stop her?
They chatted companionably while they waited, though it didn’t escape Adam’s notice that, every time he brought the subject back around to their meet, she quickly changed it. He did learn that they were waiting for a witch, a coven witch named Holly who preferred to stay out of the politics of Coventry, and that was it.
She seemed more interested in asking him about himself. And though he still mourned the human life he lost, Adam told her about being a cop, even mentioning what it was like growing up with his mom. Of course, then Tabby asked about her, and it was Adam’s turn to change the subject.
He had a much easier time dealing with the grief that came with his own death than his mother’s sudden heart attack last September and it showed.
Before long quiet fell. It was calm. Content. But while it was quiet, it wasn’t silent. Between the wind rustling through countless branches, leaves dancing on the breeze, the music of crickets, and Tabby’s occasional snapping of her gum, Adam didn’t mind it so much.
Like the drive, it was surprisingly nice.
About thirty minutes into their wait, Tabby’s phone began to go off. It was on vibrate, so while it didn’t ring, the incessant buzz as it rattled against the top of his car would’ve caught Adam’s attention even if he wasn’t completely in tune with her.
She snatched it up, but she didn’t answer it. It became clear, though, that it wasn’t a call, but a flurry of messages coming through on her end. Despite the darkness, using the glow from her screen and his amazing eyesight, he could see her frown, tell from the wrinkles around her eyes that it probably wasn’t the best news.
Adam cocked his head. “Something wrong?”
“Nah. And it’s got nothing to do with the meet, in case you’re wondering. It’s just... a slayer’s never really off. Sorry. And I told Boone that I wouldn’t be available tonight, but who was I kidding? That’s never stopped him from paging me before.”
“Boone? Who’s Boone?”
Jealousy seeped into his tone. He couldn’t help it. It was something he dealt with nearly his entire life; as his mom used to teasingly tell him, it was a product of being a spoiled only child. Whenever Adam thought of something—or someone—as his, he hated the idea of sharing. He knew he could be pushy. He knew it had lost him a couple of girlfriends over the years. You think he would’ve learned better by now.
