FANGED

Chapter Nine

Bits of drywall rained down as I tried to turn my head, but Drake kept my face firmly planted in the carpeting. So far down, that when I breathed, the shag tickled the inside of my nostrils. Not that I was doing a whole lot of breathing, more like short, gasping pants. The man weighed a ton and was laying on top me like my own personal protective leather tarp.

"Imrely camnot beeth," I gurgled.

"What?" His whispered breath brushed my ear, sending a tingle rushing through my body which made my legs jerk as if he had hit them with a reflex hammer.

"Imrelly camnot beeth!" I mumbled into the carpet again, trying to get the big oaf off me. Seriously, the man was dead weight. No pun intended.

Realizing he was trying to suffocate me, he eased his hand up off my head. Gasping for air, I turned my face sideways and greedily sucked in precious lungful's, catching a whiff of his amazing scent along the way. That Earthy, musky smell mixed with brawn and leather needed to be bottled and sold by the gallon with Channing Tatum naked gracing the label. They'd make millions.

I was about to bury my nose into the collar of his jacket and OD on the piney freshness of it, when I noticed he was stretched out half on top of me with two impressively sized, black guns pointed towards my front door. His face was a mask of fury with his lips pulled back in a snarl that would put a Doberman to shame. The image of him in full badass mode was so hot, my genitals wept with joy.

Four more holes appeared above our heads causing a piece of drywall the size of a flat screen TV to fall on my head, totally making me forget about my genitals and forcing me to focus on a different part of my anatomy. Saving my ass.

"What the hell is going on?" I yelled while trying to brush drywall dust off my black turtle neck. Great, I looked like the victim of a flourmill accident.

"We're being shot at," he snapped, positioning himself between me and the door.

"No shit, Sherlock!" I screamed as more bullets where banged into my living room wall, turning it into a piece of Swiss cheese. Mrs. Myrtle was never going to believe those holes were caused by termites.

"Why are they shooting at us?" I hissed at him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his trench coat and shaking it like a terrier with a squeaky toy. Okay...I admit it. I was totally losing my cool. So sue me.

Drake pulled his arm away and leveled me with a frosty stare. "Because you exist."

"Well...that's just stupid. I've always existed! I pay my taxes...hell...I even voted, once." Okay, so technically I've never voted for an actual president, but I did vote for American Idol once. You're welcome Kelly Clarkson.

"As a vampire." He rolled his eyes so hard, I thought he might be checking on the condition of his brain. "You exist as a vampire and they're here to take you in. Dead or alive."

"Jokes on them, I'm already dead," I snorted.

"You're kidding me right." He fixed me with one of those, "you're a special kind of stupid" looks.

"I'm a vampire, which makes me a member of the undead." I pointed proudly at myself. "You can't take somebody in dead who is already dead...duh!" I rolled my eyes like he did, but that actually kind of hurts when you over exaggerate an eye roll.

Frowning at me, he dropped one of his guns and grabbed my hand. Rolling over, Fang brought it to his chest like he wanted me to give him a belly rub. It was sort of cute. "Here." He placed my palm over his chest above his heart. "You feel that? That's a heartbeat, baby. One I'd like to keep, if you don't mind."

Sure enough, under my palm his heart beat strong and steady. I sat up and brought my hand to my own chest, feeling the same thundering. It was a total Hellen Keller moment.