Fangs for Sharing (Supernatural in Seattle #1)

by Bella Jacobs

  “And I’ll be right next door if you need me,” Leerie says, leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. I pay extra close attention to her breath—trying to see if she’s holding it due to my wretched stench—but her lips are there and gone too fast for me to judge.

  And then Rourke and Leerie are gone, too, disappearing down a warm, wood-paneled hallway to the left as Leo gestures to our right. “It’s this way. The stairs to the armory are just before you get to the servant’s quarters.”

  The armory? We’re going to look at weapons?

  This is not what I was expecting, but that’s what you get when you stop living in the now and miss chunks of pertinent conversations. I’ve got to get my head on straight.

  I’m safe in this heavily guarded fortress—for now—but I have to return to my normal life sooner or later. And when I do, there are militant shifters out there straining at the leash to kill me.

  Not to mention the pageant in two weeks or the rent due in three or the fact that I’ve only got a month of emergency money saved up and will need to find a new job ASAP. Especially if I don’t win the pageant, which isn’t a given, even if I manage to stay human through the entire event—which is also not a given.

  Beauty queens can be vicious. Keeping your temper after a girl has swapped your hairspray for foam adhesive or smeared your stick-on bra with enough Muscle Freeze to make it feel like your boobs are going to melt off your chest during the evening gown competition, is easier said than done.

  Besides, I’m not a sad little girl desperate for her mother’s love anymore. I’m a grown woman who loves herself and her friends and still has plenty of love left over to march to end animal testing and volunteer at the Boys and Girls Club in the summer.

  Vowing to put the past back where it belongs, I follow Leo around the corner, down a long, curved set of stairs, and into another space that isn’t at all what I expected.

  Chapter 7

  I stumble off the last stair, jaw dropping as I take in what looks like the world’s largest—and most fabulous—walk-in closet. “Oh wow.”

  Leo’s lips curve on one side. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “Like is not the word. I love it. It’s incredible.” Walls painted a tasteful gold set off white built-in shelving units that line the large room. Modern suits of armor—padded and shielded body suits—mingle with shimmering evening gowns, period costumes, and a row of blue jeans in various washes. Mirrors surrounded by softly glowing lights are set at an angle in each corner, and back-to-back overstuffed cream couches dominate the center of the room, reminding me of the “boyfriend chair” outside the typical department store dressing room.

  And though there are guns, axes, and swords on some of the shelves, there are just as many displays of shoes, accessories, and an entire purse section that has my inner bag-collector salivating as we move farther into the space.

  “So it’s one-part armory, one-part communal closet of awesome?” I ask, fingering a pale pink gown with seed pearls sewn into the chiffon skirt.

  “Not exactly,” Leo says, his hands sliding into his pockets. “All of the clothing here is weaponized in one way or another, even that seemingly sweet pink dress.”

  I snatch my hand back with a grimace.

  Leo laughs. “Don’t worry. The pearls don’t become poisonous until they’re mixed with liquid and an activating agent stored in hidden pockets right…here.” He motions to the neckline of the dress, and I can’t resist leaning in and lifting the fabric gently away from the hanger.

  “Genius,” I murmur, spotting the two discreet pouches sewn into the lining near the built-in bra. “Though I’m glad pageant contestants don’t have access to poisonous dresses.”

  “Agreed. That would be dangerous.”

  I glance up at him in surprise. “You’re familiar with the pageant world?”

  “No. But I’m familiar with the lengths women will go to when forced to rely on their appearance to gain power. Brutal doesn’t begin to describe it. The things they’ll do to themselves… To each other.”

  “It can be brutal,” I agree. “But in most situations, women are still judged primarily by the way we look—at work, on social media, dating apps, when we’re walking around existing after forty or fifty or whenever society has decided we’re no longer sexy.” I shrug. “At least in a beauty pageant I know when the judging’s coming and there’s a prize at the end if I win.”

  Leo’s arctic gaze settles on my face. “Or you could have accepted my gift and never had to prance across another stage again.”

  “I don’t prance, I glide,” I murmur because I’m not sure what else to say. When we talked a few months ago, Leo seemed fine with me refusing his check, but now I’m thinking I might have misjudged his reaction. “And it was too generous, Leo. I couldn’t accept that much money from a friend, not without knowing if I’m ever going to be able to pay it back.”

  “It was a gift, not a loan, Eliza. I didn’t care if you paid it back.”

  “Well, I do,” I insist. “And I can’t be sure I could. I have zero experience running a clothing manufacturing business. There’s an excellent chance it will crash and burn.”

  “It won’t. You’re too good at what you do. Your clothes are perfect.”

  “You’ve only seen the mock-ups and drawings,” I say, my cheeks heating with pleasure at the compliment. “I could fail in the execution, and then Play Time will be just another start-up that didn’t get off the ground. Maybe grown-ups don’t want to play dress up as much as I think they do.”

  “People are starved for play,” Leo says, holding my gaze. “For joy. For the light you could already be shining into the darkness if you’d let me help you instead of being pointlessly stubborn.”

  “It isn’t pointless,” I say, standing up straighter. “I want to succeed on my own. To prove I’ve got what it takes without cut corners or sneaky cheats. And a no-strings loan from a rich friend is definitely a sneaky cheat.”

  “Gift, not a loan,” he repeats, proving he’s every bit as stubborn as I am. “And if you look at it that way, you shouldn’t enter the pageant, either. It isn’t fair, after all, that you were born beautiful and graceful and clever when so many women were not. You’ve got an unfair advantage.”

  I tuck my frizzy hair behind an ear, too flustered by the compliment to come up with anything clever to say in response. “It’s not the same thing,” I mumble before quickly changing the subject. “And I won’t be winning any pageants or starting any businesses if I don’t stop crushing things with my rhino butt—and get better at choosing boyfriends.”

  “Yes, better boyfriends. A point on which we can agree.” He clears his throat and nods toward the back of the room. “And why we’re here. I’ve got something that should help you regain control of your shifting.”

  “Regain infers that control ever existed,” I say, following him to a display case filled with sports equipment.

  “Gain control, then.” He plucks a weathered, vintage-looking baseball bat from between a pair of sleek pool cues and a golden baton with diamonds set into the padded ends. He holds the bat out to me, balanced on his open palms. “For you.”

  “Thanks so much,” I say, trying not to eye the shiny baton. I wasn’t raised by wolves, for God’s sakes. I would never be so rude as to refuse a gift—or ungrateful enough to ask for a different present—but I can’t help thinking that a girly blonde walking around with a baton would be a lot less conspicuous than one toting a tired old bat.

  But my opinion of the weapon is transformed the moment I lift it from Leo’s hands. It’s like picking up a two-hundred-dollar ceramic curling iron imported from Japan—instantly clear that I’m holding a finely-crafted tool. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and the slim handle feels like it was made for my hands. The smoothly polished wood warms appealingly beneath my fingers, and as I lift it to my shoulder, I can feel my badassery level increasing.

  “Nice.” I wiggle my hips back and forth, getting a
feel for the bat’s balance. “Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t thank me until you learn what it can do,” he says, guiding me in front of the mirror with a hand at the small of my back while I willfully ignore the way his touch makes me fizz. “This is no ordinary bat.”

  “Well, duh,” I say, loving the way his eyes crinkle at the edges in response. Leo is a gorgeous man at all times, but when he smiles…be still my sizzling panties.

  “Right,” he says. “Duh, indeed. Pearl clearly has special powers.”

  “Her name is Pearl?” I barely stifle a squee. “I love it. And I will be very good to Pearl, I promise.”

  “And Pearl will be very good to you.”

  “Because she’s poison,” I guess, meeting his gaze in the reflection.

  He rolls his eyes. “No, she’s not poison.”

  “Easy there, Mr. Eye Roll, I was kidding.”

  His brows arch. “Were you?”

  “I was,” I say, enjoying the teasing banter more than I should. But then, a little flirting never hurt anyone. “My real guess is that Pearl possesses super strength.” I circle my hands, sending the bat spinning slowly over my head. “She magnifies the force of my swing, enabling me to knock bad guys over the wall and out of the park.”

  “Closer,” Leo says, crossing his arms. “But not quite.”

  “A hint then?” I’m a creative thinker, but it’s late and I confess I have a limited imagination when it comes to ways to use a bat, even a super-powered one.

  “Pearl is very sensitive to how you’re feeling.” Leo reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tennis ball he must have plucked from the case when I wasn’t looking. “For example, if I told you this ball was rigged to explode on impact and then threw it at the mirror—” He throws the ball, and my pulse leaps like a horse busting out of the gate at the derby.

  My lips part on a warning for Leo to stand back, certain I’ll be going rhino, but the words emerge as a soft cry of surprise as Pearl ignites over my shoulder. White flames burst and sizzle around her tip, but I don’t sense any heat, only an intensification of the warm, pleasant sensation I felt when I first picked her up.

  Best of all—I don’t shift.

  “Pearl is fueled by emotion,” Leo says, shifting to the right, out of the glare of the glowing weapon. “She takes your fear and anger and draws it into herself, leaving you clear-headed and ready to swing with focus and clarity.”

  I pull in a breath and let it out, my chest rising and falling without tension. “You’re right. I feel relaxed. And I’m still me!”

  He nods. “You are. Pearl will help keep you human until you’re ready to shift. And if you do need to fight back, when you hit your target, they’ll feel it. A couple blows and your average Kin Born shifter will be out cold. Pearl doesn’t kill, but she turns the lights out pretty damned quick.””

  “Thank you so much, Leo,” I say again, with more feeling, my heart full of gratitude that makes Pearl flare brighter. “Um, so what do I do with a charged Pearl if there isn’t any butt around that needs kicking?”

  He smiles. “Just relax your grip.”

  I loosen my hold on the bat with one hand, then the other, and the flames flicker out, leaving Leo and I in the honey glow of the fancy dungeon lighting once more. I let Pearl slide through my hands until I’m gripping her around the middle then hug her close. “We’re going to get along great, Pearl. Even if you aren’t a baton.”

  Leo’s smile fades. “The baton isn’t for you. Or anyone else.”

  I spin to face him, heart stuttering. “Of course. I was just kidding, Leo. I’m so grateful for the gift. I didn’t mean to—”

  “If I had my way, it would be destroyed, along with everything else that belonged to her,” he continues, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “But I’m second-in-command. I don’t get my way. The Master decides what goes and what stays.” His eyes catch mine; all the warmth has vanished from their depths. “You should remember that while you’re under this roof. Her spies are everywhere.”

  I swallow, fingers tightening on Pearl’s smooth length. “Why would Gloria be spying on me?”

  “She spies on everyone, and you know exactly why you’re on her radar,” he says, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “If you’re not interested in going along with her plans, then I suggest you make damn sure you don’t give her a reason to think you’ll come around to seeing things her way.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask. “That I shouldn’t talk to you or Rourke?”

  “You can talk.” He stalks closer, making me feel like a mouse that’s wandered into the feral cat room at the animal shelter. “But that’s all. You talk. You don’t smile. Or bat your eyelashes. Or giggle when Rourke is stupid enough to kiss your hand. Or lean over a little too far when you’re wearing a low-cut shirt.”

  My jaw drops as I sputter, “I never—”

  “Of course you have,” Leo cuts me off. He’s close enough that he looms over me now. “And the view down your shirt is beautiful,” he continues in a silkier voice, one that makes my traitorous body ache. “You’re a lovely woman, Eliza, in every way. But this life isn’t for you. You don’t belong in the darkness.”

  “It doesn’t seem so dark to me,” I hear myself saying, even though I agree with him.

  I don’t want to get tangled up with one vampire, let alone two. Vampires, even in this relatively civilized time in their history, are dangerous. And the emotionally manipulative, unavailable people in my life have given me a hearty fear of commitment. I’m cautious with my human relationships, let alone bonds that could last thousands of years—even eternity, if you’re good at staying out of the sun and avoiding vamp conflict.

  But there’s something in Leo’s eyes, in his tone when he said the view was lovely… That I was lovely.

  Something that makes it hard to listen to the voice of reason.

  I don’t want to turn my back and walk away. I want to lean in, wrap my arms around Leo’s neck, and find out if his lips are as soft as they look.

  “And that,” he whispers, fingertips brushing my cheek as he tucks a rogue curl behind my ear. “Definitely don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea. He’s talking about sex eyes and the hunger pulsing through my veins, the hunger I’m sure he can see on my face as clearly as I can see it on his.

  Leo wants me. The realization is breathtaking.

  He wants me even though he doesn’t want to want me, which is the most seductive wanting of all. What woman doesn’t want to feel irresistible to a gorgeous man? A good, gorgeous, intelligent man she’s always assumed was so far out of her league he might as well be another species?

  But then, in a way, he is—I’m reminded of that when he wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me like I weigh less than Scrawny Sheila, first runner-up at Miss Seattle and the reason God invented sandwiches. She needs a sandwich as badly as I need Leo to pull me close, crush his lips to mine, and show me what it’s like to kiss a man who’s as clever and kind as he is drop-dead gorgeous.

  But Leo doesn’t draw me in. He moves me carefully away, putting a good two feet between us before he sets me down. “Sven will show you to your room. He’s waiting at the top of the stairs.”

  “Oh, o-okay.” I cast a flustered glance over my shoulder, but the heavy door to the armory is closed and the top of the stairs invisible from here.

  “I can hear him,” Leo whispers, answering my unspoken question. “Eyes and ears are everywhere, Eliza, and this isn’t going to happen. I learned my lesson about beautiful, fragile things the hard way.” He takes another step back, his head dipping in a gentlemanly bow that does nothing to soften the blow of rejection. “I’ll see you after sunset. Get some rest and think about what it will take to convince your ex to do the right thing. Rourke and I can be persuasive when the occasion calls for it.”

  His lips part, revealing newly long, sharpened incisors. I’ve never seen Leo in attack mode before
—vampire teeth look like human teeth most of the time—but it doesn’t scare me. It should, of course. Any reasonable woman confronted with clear evidence that the man she’s with could chomp her neck in half like a giant mosquito would run screaming.

  But his potential for violence only makes the buzz inside me hum louder, my nipples pull tighter, and the ache inside me do some shapeshifting of its own.

  Until lust becomes something closer to longing…

  “Good night, Eliza,” Leo says, a warning in his voice.

  “Good night.” I hug Pearl close as he walks away, moving so quickly he’s gone before I can think of anything else to say.

  Which is probably for the best.

  Nothing I want to say is a good idea, anyway.

  Chapter 8

  Despite the thick black-out curtains in the Lavender room—a sumptuous suite complete with Victorian antiques, decadently comfy bedding, a coffee bar, and a state-of-the-art treadmill by windows overlooking Seattle and the bay beyond—sleep is impossible.

  I’m exhausted but keyed up at the same time.

  I should be fretting about Eugene, and the Kin Born shifters who want me dead, and the fact that the pageant is rapidly approaching and there’s no way I’m going to be competition-ready at this rate—not if I don’t start hitting the rehearsal room more than I do the donut shop. But those worries aren’t what keep me tossing and turning for hours on end.

  My thoughts are of the look in Leo’s eyes, the emotion in his voice as he implied that I was on his list of beautiful, fragile, desirable but forbidden things.

  Finally, around ten in the morning, I drift into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of giant spiders and frogs that shoot poison out of their eyeballs—two of my usual anxiety dreams—but when I wake around four in the afternoon, Leo is still taking up an inordinate amount of room in my thoughts.

  I’ve always been too curious for my own good, and everything about the way Leo was acting last night has my inner cat in the mood to paw through the sand until she finds the good stuff.