FANGED

Chapter Forty-Two

My victory, however, was extremely short lived as it dawned on me I didn't have a stitch of clothing to wear. There was no telling what Fang had done with my borrowed hooker wear from earlier. If it had been me and I had a choice, I would have burned it. But, knowing him, he probably disposed of it just so I would be stuck in this embarrassing position or worse...have to go crawling to him and ask! I made an irritated sound in the back at of my throat. He'd have a long wait before I did something like that.

I looked down at the towel wrapped around me. I didn't really have a problem tromping around the compound in a towel, but I doubted the vamps around here would approve. And the thought of having to put on dirty underwear, frankly, made my skin crawl with all kinds of ewwww. When a person was all nice, fresh and sparkly clean...well...yeah...I still didn't sparkle, but I was clean...they didn't generally look forward to putting on dirty skivvies.

Panicking, I looked around and my eyes landed on the thick, black drapes hanging off the humongous four poster bed. Funny, I hadn't noticed those when I woke up, but then again, having the albino Ingmar Bergman twins hovering in my face was rather distracting. Not to mention the loss of my waffles and the strange reactions I now had towards Fang.

Walking over to the drapes, I fingered the fine material wondering if I could tap into my inner Tim Gunn and somehow make it work. My eyes landed on the four, perfectly round, white scars on my left index finger and I was quickly reminded it was probably safer for all involved if I didn't get anywhere near a sewing machine again. Ever. The last time I touched one of those demonic devices from hell, I not only ended up sewing my finger into the machine, but the sewing instructor developed a drinking problem soon after and ended up quitting. I think she's a part-time pole dancer now.

With a disgruntled huff, I dropped the curtain. Needless to say, they were safe from me going all Carol Burnett on them. Flopping onto the bed, I was about to start thinking of all the ways I was going to get Fang back for leaving me with only my birthday suit, when something sitting on the opposite edge of the bed caught my eye. Crawling across adulteress acres, I knelt in front of a neatly folded piled of clothes and a note.

Plucking it off the top, I couldn't help but notice it was written on the same parchment type paper my death sentence had been on. A small shudder wiggled up my spine from the memory. Seriously, these vamps needed to stop buying office supplies from medieval times and maybe hit Staples once in a while. Shaking my head, I looked down at the elegantly scrawled letters done in actual ink with perfect precision and a masculine flare. Don't ask me how I knew it was masculine...I just did. Just as I knew exactly who it was from before I read it.

Dearest Moya Solnishka,

I have taken the liberty of arranging clothing for you. If there is something you desire, other than myself, you need only ask either Olaf or Sven. For the thing you desire the most...you must ask yours truly. ;)

I have also had your things from your vehicle returned to you, including your precious spoon. I humbly request you do not break anything with it as I have already had the pleasure of learning that valuable lesson and still have no questions which would require you to break more priceless vases.

Also, to the left of the bed, you will find a closet with more garments and what I hope will be received as an acceptable peace offering.

Eternally Yours,

Drake

AKA...Fang

Holy Moses on a pogo stick! Fang gave me a winky face in calligraphy. Holding the letter to my chest, a wide smile broke across my lips and I bounced on the bed with glee. Okay...yeah...it wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it was beginning.