The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

29

Greg, Adjusting to Falling Beams

"Julian called. Dmitri's invited you to dinner. BYOB. Sorry. Must have slipped my mind since I was so busy gossiping about how big your—" I bit my tongue. No. I'm skipping that bit. "Big smiley face emoji."

Said it once, I'll say it again. Phoebe was a lousy secretary. Late messages, poorly filed paperwork. But I couldn't exactly let the dame go. Not when she died on the job for me. But we had boundaries, my gal and I. She made promises. Swore she wouldn't eavesdrop or spy on this paranoid old bat because we had a relationship, a partnership built on respect and did I mention boundaries.

Glancing up, I caught Isla looking over my shoulder, holding her hands out in front of her, palms parallel. She raised brow and inched them further apart, mouthing what appeared to be more?

I did not like whatever game Madame Margarita was playing at anymore.

But I didn't like the game Julian—clearing his fragile throat over there—was playing at either. What's it Phoebe was always telling me? Priorities.

"Ahem, well," Julian pulled at his boxy tie. "You're underdressed, but better that than being la—"

His sentence ended in a strained gargle. Oh, because I launched myself at him, throwing us both out the door and pinning the scrawny valet to the (now) dented side of his van.

"You set us up, you cowardly snake," I growled, squeezing his throat a little tighter, his flesh squishing under my fingers. Felt good to channel my agitations into something physical. Don't give me that look. It was just a nudge. Not like that raging itch in my veins would make me forget myself and sink my teeth in his soft, tender jugular till he burst open like a bloated tick. Nah. I'd never lose my cool that much. He'd be fine. "You were supposed to meet us on the roof. 'Stead we got a dead girl dropped on us like a steel beam on the sidewalk."

Behind me, Isla lit up a cigarette. "Ah, so that's the guy." She inhaled deep. Smoke scratched at my throat. "Prick."

"Why Britney—Taylor?" I continued. "She tell us too much about sweet, innocent, barista Lily, huh? The illegal blood escort."

Julian gurgled. A bit of spittle popped out onto his lips as he tried to speak, accompanied by a borderline manic gleam in his eyes. As he choked for air, his pulse spiked excitedly. His limbs swung almost aimlessly at the side of the van, not even bothering to put up a fight. Snotrag hadn't even broken a sweat. That wouldn't due.

I bared my fangs at him. Extended them slowly, deliberately, allowing saliva to drip onto the sleeve of his thrifted suit.

He moaned in response. A strangled, desperate sound from deep in his throat as his feet and arms twitched—oh for fang's sake he was half hard.

How do I keep snagging the perverts?

I dropped the roach. Course, I was hoping he'd at least roll an ankle on the landing. Rats that he didn't.

Julian, all smug, cleared his throat, patting it gently, and not so subtly palming his crotch to reposition himself (Isla snorted). "I've lived with vampires for twenty years. You don't scare me."

Heard a flick and a burning cigarette slapped Julian in the face. It bounced off. "Ow!" He yelled. But he was mostly fine. Mostly. Just a little eyebrow singe I certainly didn't notice.

Isla pulled a fresh cigarette from her pack. Lit it. Broad was on to something with that.

I ripped my revolver from its holster and pointed it at Julian's face. This time, the fear in his skyrocketing pulse was unmistakable. "This scare you?"