Fangs But No Fangs. Kathy Love

she said, offering him a small smile. Was he reacting this way because he was or wasn’t attracted to her? From his deadpan expression, she couldn’t tell. “You know, I was thinking, maybe, if you are interested—”

      “Your name, Jolee—is that as in French for pretty?”

      The question caught her off guard. She smiled wider at the idea, but then she said, “Hardly.”

      “No, I thought not,” he said coolly. He reached for the doorknob. She didn’t stop him this time as he stepped outside.

      Jolee remained rooted to the spot, unable to react. Finally, she managed to gather her thoughts enough to go get one of the metal chairs in the living room and wedge the back under the door handle. She needed to get a better lock, she thought to herself. A chain lock. Or a deadbolt. Or…

      She’d nearly been stabbed by her brother over money she didn’t have, and now her weird neighbor had just called her ugly. What a great night.

      She laughed out loud, the sound more hysterical than humorous. Thinking about better security wasn’t going to erase the embarrassment tightening her chest. Here she’d been thinking her neighbor seemed attracted to her, and he essentially told her how unattractive he really found her. Man, was she that clueless?

      She shook her head, telling herself his opinion didn’t matter. After all, he had to have issues. A person didn’t have the clothes and car and cultured voice he had and live in a run-down trailer park. Something was not right with him. Not to mention he seemed more than a little socially dysfunctional. She had enough of that in her own family. She didn’t need to go befriending it.

      Still, his words and his arrogant look stung. And reminded her that unlike him, she did belong here. No one would be surprised to find a Dugan in a place like this. No one expected her to make anything out of herself. But she was damned well going to try to. And she wasn’t going to waste her time dwelling on her snotty neighbor.

      Christian entered his trailer, shutting the door tightly. Then he twisted the lock for good measure.

      This was crazy. He was anxious over a mortal. A mortal woman. Why? It had to be this strange agitation he’d been feeling all night. That was the only answer. But what was different? He didn’t know. He just knew that he had to get these feelings under control.

      But even now, he felt inexplicably drawn to her. He walked over to the window and looked out at her trailer. All her lights were on. He could go back over.

      And do what? Be friends? What did he have in common with a mortal woman? He’d given up his vampire ways to reinvent himself. To no longer be the Christian Young who…He didn’t actually plan to hang out with humans. Okay, Step Eleven: Making Contact, did sound like he was supposed to do just that. But he blogged—and that was contact.

      He turned away from the window. He needed to focus on his plan. He went to the refrigerator. He must have been tempted by the scent of her blood. He’d just been hungry. Maybe he needed to up his pre-measured portions of blood to ten ounces from eight. That was probably it.

      “Calm down,” he told himself, going to the refrigerator to read his list of steps. “Step Three: You must surrender to the fact you do have a problem, and then find a way to deal constructively with the problem.”

      But you didn’t have the urge to drink her blood. He turned from the list, pacing the small kitchen. He’d wanted to touch her. Feel the smooth texture of her skin, taste the softness of her wide lips. And he just didn’t have those kinds of feelings about mortals.

      He pulled in a deep breath. It had been a fluke. A little unexpected side effect of his strict feeding plan. No big deal. And he wasn’t going to see Jolee again. Not to talk to. He’d insulted her to guarantee that very thing. An image of Jolee’s surprised, then wounded expression flashed through his mind. A twinge of guilt pulled at his gut.

      Why fret over a mortal? They are of no importance.

      He looked around as if the voice in his head were real. Lilah’s voice, deceptively sweet. The voice of his vampire lover, and evil incarnate.

      Why would he think of her now? The vampiress who’d crossed him over, crossed over his brothers, and destroyed his family. He’d forced her out of his thoughts. Yet, he could see her clearly in his mind. Her patronizing look when he’d been horrified by the results of his first feeding, by what he’d done to another human being.

      “But you aren’t a human being, not anymore,” Lilah had informed him. “You are a vampire, and you are mine. That makes you far more important than any mere mortal.”

      And he’d believed her. He’d become what he was because he’d believed.

      Why was he thinking about this? He wasn’t that vampire anymore! He wasn’t. He’d changed. His self-imposed exile, his routine, his self-therapy. It was all making him…better.

      Yes, and how Lilah would laugh if she could see him now. Living in a trailer, drinking blood through a straw, hiding from his neighbor.

      This is your brilliant plan of redemption?

      Again his thoughts took on Lilah’s lilting, mocking tone.

      No! This was a good plan. It was working. He just needed to be more careful. He needed to adjust his blood intake. He needed to avoid situations where the hunger might appear. He needed to stay calm. His reaction to Jolee was hardly “falling off the wagon.”

      “You just need to be a little more vigilant. By tomorrow night, you will be fine,” he told himself. He shook his head, chuckling derisively. “You also need to stop talking to yourself.”

      He strode into the living room and turned on the TV. The chatter of voices filled the room. A comforting sound. A sound that drowned out the whir of lawn ornaments and the drone in his own head.

      “At just nineteen-ninety-five the Salad Shooter is already an incredible value. But that’s not all you get. We are also including the World’s Best Vegetable Peeler, the only peeler you will ever have to buy again. And the Super Corer—core apples, pears, even tomatoes with just a flick of your wrist. All this for one low price. But this offer cannot last. Call now!”

      Christian stared at the beaming face on the television screen. Another infomercial. He’d seen this one before, but he focused on the adamant pitch of the salesperson as he continued his spiel.

      Did mortals really live in a world where the Salad Shooter could make their entire lives better? The overly cheery salesperson certainly implied that, and Christian couldn’t help but feel envious of the possibility. He thought of Jolee, wondering what would make her life better. Even thinking about her seemed to make his muscles tense, and his body react. This had to stop.

      He strode back to his computer and punched it to life. He sat down, pulled up his blog and added:

      Postscript:

      I realized I’ve never asked my blog readers how they are. How is everyone?

      There. He’d made contact. Step Eleven successfully completed. Now he could forget about Jolee.

      Chapter 3

      “Damn it,” Jolee muttered as she dropped another glass. Her third of the night. At least this one didn’t break. She couldn’t afford new barware.

      “What’s got you so preoccupied tonight?” Jed asked.

      She smiled at the old man who had sort of come with the bar. He lived in a building, which was no better than a shack, really, out behind the bar. Jolee had agreed that for his rent, he could handle the janitorial duties for the bar.

      “Nothing. Just a clumsy night, I guess.”

      He nodded, but she didn’t think he believed her. He was right not to, because everything was on her mind tonight. Vance’s attack. Money. Her arrogant, rude neighbor with his snooty airs.

      Money was certainly the biggest