FANGED

Chapter Forty

"Do you think she is avake, yah?"

"No. She has been making dat noise now for hours."

"It reminds me of moose from home."

"Yah, only louder."

"Dat is a good yoke, Sven."

"Vhat is good is she doesn't smell like them, yah?"

"Oh yah! Do you remember Uncle Oaken and dat time he ate the fermented lutefisk?"

"Yah! Dat was a bad night for everyone."

"Maybe if ve poke her, she vill vake?"

"I don't think dat is a good idea, Sven."

"But I made vaffles!"

My eyes began to flutter open at the magical word...waffles. Or at least I thought it was the magical word. I mean, I never won a spelling bee or anything, but I was pretty sure waffles was spelled with a W and not a V. Deciding I was still too groggy to worry about it, I blinked my eyes open and screamed my bloody head off.

Hovering over me an inch from my nose were two faces. Now granted, they were smiling, handsome faces attached to two twin, blonde haired, blue eyed men...but give me a frigging break. Didn't anyone respect personal spaces anymore? Usually, I would have to say waking up with two great-looking men would rank right up there pretty high in the fantasy department. Except these guys were beyond pale and for a moment I thought I was seeing identical ghosts. Even their eyes were a watery, transparent blue, like a pair of faded jeans that had been washed way too many times.

"Holy Moses on a pogo stick!" I gasped out, sitting bolt upright and grabbing the covers to my chin. "Don't do that!" I ran a trembling hand through the tangle of my hair and quickly snagged my fingers in the knotted mass. "Who are you?" I asked, giving a yank to try and disengage my hand.

"Hello," one of them answered, still grinning from ear to ear at me. Obviously, my less than cheerful greeting had no effect on them. "My name is Sven and dat is my brother, Olaf." Sven nodded his head towards his exact replica whose grin grew even wider, if that was at all possible. I swear, if he smiled any bigger his face would become unhinged. One thing I did notice in my somewhat fuzzy state was that both men were lacking pointy teeth.

"Immortals," I groaned, rubbing my knuckles against my eyelids as I tried to clear the fog. Leave it to me to be woken up by two guys who looked like the Swedish masseuses every woman daydreamed of, but sounded like the Swedish Chef Muppet.

"Yah!" Both Sven and Olaf responded, nodding their heads enthusiastically. "Ve are here to serve you, your Majesty."

My hands stopped in mid-scrub. Majesty? I turned and stared at the whole lot of holly jolly still standing by the bed. I paused again. Bed? Grasping the handful of red, satin bedsheets, I held it out and frowned at it, trying to figure out where I was and how the hell I got here. My eyes darted around a massive room painted a dark, charcoal grey, lit with about a zillion candles flickering soothingly at their posts and filled with warm, brown leather couches and chairs. The lush, richly carved wooden furniture looked like it should belong in a museum or gracing Buckingham Palace. It was fit for a King...

A cool breeze passed over my breasts and I realized I was only in my lemon yellow bra and panties. With an embarrassed yelp, I yanked the covers back up to my chin. I was sitting in the middle of a gigantic bed reminiscent of the one back in the underground penthouse. Apparently, Fang had a thing for humongous beds, passing over your typical California King in favor of mattresses in the size of ample acres. There was no doubt...I was in the rat finks lair.