Page 68 of Fangbanger

Marcus shifts, his bare shoulder brushing mine.

“I’ve never had a hunting partner before.”

He slides me an amused look. “Is that what I am?”

I bump him gently, an entirely human gesture. “For tonight.” The words make my stomach clench. His face falls. Tonight is all we get, and something inside me howls at the thought of this ending when it feels so right. When I’ve never had someone to sit on the porch with before.

Especially someone whose shoulders are broad enough that when I put my head on one—I test it, and Marcus makes a pleased sound—it feels like coming home.

Stop, Leah.

I’m making this worse for myself. I give myself a mental shake and look up at the vampire.

“You ready?”

He nods, face impassive. “Are you?”

I can’t keep my face so stoic, not when, inside, I’m a mess of fear and doubt and nerves. I shrug and slide my hands under my thighs to keep from grabbing him or leaping up and pacing the porch.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“Twenty years,” he murmurs.

I nod jerkily. Twenty years, and it all comes down to this. And still, I wonder if my parents would be proud of me. I barely knew them. Eight years is nothing in the span of a life. All I have are stories of their prowess and flashes of memory.

“I won’t let you die, Leah.” My head jerks up. Marcus’s gaze is silver smoke in the darkness.

“They did,” I whisper. “They were stronger than I was, and still, they died.” My voice cracks on the last.

Marcus tugs me into his lap and cradles me against his chest. “Tell me about them.” His hand smooths my hair.

“I have so few memories of them. Just impressions, really. My mom baking. The toy daggers my dad bought me when I turned six. The elaborate games they made up to teach me to be a slayer. The training they made me do every night before dinner. I always remember being irritated by it but being promised baked goods as a reward.”

“And now I see where you get it from,” he teases. “They must have been so proud of you.”

I stiffen. “I’m not as powerful. I don’t have magic like them, like every other slayer.”

“They would have been.”

I rest my head on his chest, where his heart beats, so slowly but so strong. One steady beat every twenty seconds or so. It’s far more comforting than the rushed thud-thump of a human heart.

“You’re strong but soft, Leah. Tender-hearted.”

I growl, and he chuckles.

“It’s rare among long-lived creatures like us. Time hardens supernaturals, but not you. You retain the best parts of mortality for someone so long-lived.”

“I am mortal,” I remind him. It’s the wrong thing to say. He tenses under me.

“I am achingly aware of that,” he finally says before he sighs. “Come on, slayer. We have a plan to execute.”

I sit up and straddle him, my knees on the hard wood of the stairs, my hands on his firm chest.

He grins at me, a small, lopsided thing, more eyes than mouth. They’re black now. The darkness loves him. His face is starkly shadowed. He looks devilishly attractive like this, with a hint of fang peeking over that pouty lip.

“So handsome, vampire.”

His smile grows before he tips his head to the side. “Have at it, little mate.”