Page 13 of Little Fangs

“I’m an emergency response operator. I could technically have blood bags here,” I told him. “I’m trained for accidents and emergencies. I just don’t have a medical fridge.”

He pouted, his eyes so big. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” I told him.

“Thank you.” Micah’s squeezes were strong; I had to tense myself just to keep him from breaking me. Maybe that’s what he was testing out.

“Come on, then, you gotta do your part now,” I said through the muscle strain.

I’d grown fond of him, and I should’ve burned those pillows when my ex left, but I didn’t, maybe because future me knew I’d need them. It was fine. In the grand scheme of life, it was all fine.

The cabin was clean, even the boxes were aligned, and as much as I’d stressed to him not to go through them, I didn’t mind now. He’d organized the place into something I didn’t have to navigate around, which made getting into bed in the dark a new issue, since he’d disturbed the placement of everything.

I stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at the bed, all made up and nice. And a note left on my pillow. I looked at it, and then to see if Micah was around. It was only him who could’ve left it. I sat on my side of the bed and unfolded the note.

Dear Harlan,

Thank you so much for letting me stay in your home. I really appreciate your hospitality, and I want to pay you back for it. So, please allow me to make dinner tonight. I’m writing you this letter because I’m scared you won’t let me if I ask you in person, and I was taught to ask for things formally in letters, so this is me, requesting that I cook you a meal this evening.

Yours,

Micah

He stood at the door, looking at me with those eyes that somehow caressed me and pierced through my skin. “So?” he let out.

“You could’ve just asked,” I said. “Of course, I’m happy to let you make dinner. But I’m not sure I could handle all the stuff I bought today.”

“Well, I saw a YouTube video on the TV, and it was a big thing of mac and cheese. I wanna make that, and I—I also wanna make cornbread. Oh my god, I haven’t had cornbread in forever.”

“You gotta add a protein to it,” I said.

“The nuggets,” he said with a big smile. “They’ve got chicken in them.”

“Well,” I said, stifling a laugh. “You know what, go to town. And you’ve checked I’ve got everything?”

He nodded. “Yup. You’ve got a lot of things in your cupboard. I’m surprised you don’t use them.”

“And they’re all in date?” I asked.

“Yep. Well, I think.”

Misty came into the room, between his legs, which he’d had crossed over each other. She really didn’t care; she made room wherever she wanted to be.

“I also fed Misty,” he said. “I gave her the tinned tuna. The cat one. Not the you one.”

“She can have either,” I said. “But I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“Oh my god, she was like me that first night, just chowing down.” He laughed into a snort, then laughed more. “Oh. I should finish getting everything out of the car. And thank you again, for the blood. I love the steaks and stuff, but I don’t think I’m getting much from it.”

“It’s no problem. I don’t have much deer left anyway,” I told him.

He’d really opened himself up, his energy like an engine combusting, and that might’ve had something to do with the fact that he could seemingly teleport, judging by the way he ran. It was quick.

Misty now sat on my lap, so I lay on the bed, reading the note again as I listened to the sound of the whoosh from Micah coming in and out of the house with the shopping. He poured life back into the space, and I really didn’t want him to leave. The last thing I wanted right now was for it to vanish. But he had to leave eventually, to be his own person, undefined by the dark people who’d tried shaping him.

The letter was sweet. I pressed it to my nose. It smelled like him. The scent of earth and cinnamon. I’d tried not thinking about him like that, after kissing me, but I didn’t know what to think now. He’d seen me naked—briefly—and now we were sharing a bed, completely platonic. He needed to sleep well, because I didn’t know what would happen if a vampire was cranky, but also because I had an overwhelming urge to protect him.

Misty jumped off me, launching herself from my crotch, as if she was telling me to not think with my dick. I wasn’t—I hadn’t in years, even when the opportunity presented itself. I should’ve. He’d kissed me first. Right?