Page 24 of Little Fangs

We’d bought enough to warrant Mark putting everything inside an empty cardboard box. I paid on my card and took it out to the truck. Micah’s wide eyes stared at it. It was a lot, but he could’ve continued raiding the place. I placed it in the back of the flatbed, and winched it in with rope.

“I didn’t think I got that much,” he said, turning around in his seat to look out back at the box. “That must’ve been you.”

The teddy did take up some space, but I wasn’t going to reveal that to him yet. “Just easier to pack, I guess,” I told him, buckling myself in. I leaned in like suddenly being with him was second nature. He gave me a kiss, and we sat there for a moment. He placed his hand on my chest. “You feel my heart?”

“And hear it,” he said. “There’s a lot of things I can do that I forget about.”

“Why?” I asked and immediately wanted to suck the question back into my mouth.

“Feeding on—you know, blood is basically fuel, and the more you have, the more you are,” he said.

I got what he was saying, and yet I wished I hadn’t asked. I didn’t want to pry into his life when we were out so publicly. “You can tell me about it later, if you want,” I said, rubbing at his cold cheek. “Are you strong enough to go by the manor?” I tugged the cap off his head, combed my fingers through his hair, and placed it back on him again, all while staring into his ocean-blue eyes as if they came with a fishing net and had caught me in the rope.

“Do we have to?” he asked, pushing out his lower lip.

“I’ll let you bite me again later,” I told him. “You didn’t really get much earlier.”

“That’s because—” He gulped hard. “One of the things I was taught but could never really get right was, once you bite, you’re supposed to suck, and I have another problem.”

I couldn’t keep my hands off him, once more stroking a hand over his cheek, as if somehow I could warm his entire body up with my touch alone. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“Saliva can heal wounds. Specifically, wounds we create,” he said. “It’s why your finger healed that time, and why the tiny bite I made on you turned into a little silver dot. It healed over quickly. Too quick for me to get a full mouthful of anything.”

My hand stretched out behind his neck and pulled him into a hug, chest to chest, squeezed together in an embrace. It was over fast as he forced himself back into his seat, not wanting anyone to see us.

“You should’ve told me,” I said.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to know,” he said. “And—and you know, I was taught that you’d try to kill me, like all the time. Not you, but humans.”

“And now you know differently,” I told him. “Those men are the people threatening you, and we’ll go on a little drive past the house, and then we can plan on how we’re going to get your stuff back.”

I must’ve passed his home many times, though it wasn’t directly on any road or route. The manor house was set off on its own path through an iron gate with all the fancy ironwork decoration of swirls and circles.

This time, as I drove by, we stopped right outside.

“There are bells on the gate,” Micah whispered. “And sometimes, they have humans around during the day, but I—”

The manor looked like it was made of driftwood from the shoreline hours away—unless it came from the lake. It was at least three stories with darkened windows scattered around, seemingly without rhyme or reason to regular room sizing. It looked grand yet haphazardly built at the same time.

“My room was on the first floor. I had a view of the gate. I had a view of all the people coming in,” he said.

“And where do they stay?” I asked.

“Underground. They’re always underground,” he said. “Before Ludmila left, they had rooms, but since she was our Master, she needed to be the furthest from sunlight. Even with all the things she had to stay immune from sunlight, she slept underground.”

“Okay, so how many rooms are there?”

He shrugged. “It’s impossible to know, really. I only ever left my room for the bathroom, or for whatever they decided I could take from the dining room.”

I couldn’t create an image, everything I thought about was just dark and shadowy. “So, when you go inside, which part is your room?”

“On the—” He paused, hyperventilating and panting. “I don’t know. You can’t go in.”

“They’re bullies,” he said. “And they’ve got your things. It’s important you get those things back.”

He itched at his palm, still gulping back air like a fish out of water. I pulled him into another hug, tighter this time, like I was weights on him, bringing him back to earth, to life, and helping him overcome the anxiety spike.

“It’s still daylight,” I whispered. “They’re not going to come out.” I kissed his forehead, knocking the front of the cap back with my face. “Are you okay to keep going?” I asked. “We’ve still got to head to the supermarket.”