Fangs But No Fangs

CHAPTER 2

Jolee frowned. Her neighbor was a strange guy. Not that she was surprised. She'd noticed him before. After all, it was pretty darn hard to ignore a hunky model type with designer clothes and a car that cost ten times her yearly income, and that was if she was lucky, living across from her in a rundown trailer park. There was definitely a story there. She'd even invented one or two of her own.

But until tonight, she'd never considered talking to him for two very good reasons. One, he had to be trouble. Again, guys like this one did not live in Shady Fork Mobile Estates, unless they were in deep doo-doo. And number two, she was too smart and too busy to get involved with trouble. Even on a non-romantic basis. She'd had enough of that in her life, thank you very much.

But tonight had really added a new twist to her two-point plan. He'd rescued her. She could have protected herself from Vance if she'd had to. Although it had been really nice not to have to. To have someone stick up for her.

She simply hadn't expected help. She knew full well that people often ignored others in trouble. Like she'd planned to ignore her neighbor. But he hadn't ignored her.

Of course, she had been screaming on her front lawn at three in the morning. But then, no one else had come to her aid. And this guy had even gotten hurt protecting her. If he wasn't already sexy as hell that would have definitely added to his appeal. It was rather nice to have a hero around.

"I don't think you are mortally wounded," she said. When his brows drew together in confusion, she pointed to his arm. "Your arm. It bled a lot, but the cut was actually quite small."

"Oh." He glanced down at his bloodstained sleeve as if just remembering the wound. "Yeah, it's fine."

He nodded as if he didn't have any idea what else to say, which apparently he didn't. He started toward the door.

"Can I get you something to eat?" she blurted out, then winced. It was three in the morning. What were the chances he was hungry? Not that she had much to offer him if he was hungry. The invitation was just the first thing that popped into her mind. The truth was she didn't want him to leave. He was the only company she'd had since she moved here, aside from her knife-wielding brother, and she was lonely. She didn't even realize how much until now.

He hesitated, then instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Was that kid— Vance? Are you together in some way?"

Jolee blinked and then laughed, although there was not much humor in the sound. There wasn't much funny about her family in general.

"No. Definitely not. He's my brother."

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then he nodded. To her surprise, he walked toward her, a leisurely, almost predatory quality to his movements. His unusual, pale blue eyes locked on her.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest as his hand came out and caught a strand of her hair, which had escaped from its ponytail.

"Your hair. I've never seen this color before."

From the corners of her eyes, Jolee watched him rub the curling lock, testing the texture. Her heart threatened to hop right out of her chest as she imagined those long, masculine fingers touching parts of her body that actually had nerve endings.

"The color is a little unusual, I guess," she said. Not as unusual as his eyes, which were such a pale blue they appeared almost white. She pulled in a calming breath, forcing herself to look away from his beautiful face.

"That's why you're named Cherry," he said, almost like a revelation to himself.

She frowned for a moment, not following the conversation, probably due to the lack of oxygen getting to her brain. Or maybe too much oxygen, given that her heart was in overdrive. Then she recalled her brother using the dreaded nickname when he'd been yelling for her. "That's one reason, among others."

He frowned, puzzled.

"It's not my real name," she added quickly, as she'd rather not go into the fact that her brothers had mainly called her Cherry to mock her morality and the fact that she actually didn't want to sleep around like her other siblings. They had found her virginity a great source of amusement.

"My name is Jolee. Jolee Dugan."

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze going from her eyes to linger on her lips. Jolee's breath caught in her throat as he slowly leaned closer. He was going to kiss her, she realized.

Her heart revved again. A thrill tingled over her skin; her own gaze dropped to his mouth. His top lip bowed in the center and the bottom one was fuller, pale pink, soft-looking and yet infinitely masculine. His head descended.

Then, as if he'd been burnt, he stepped back from her. He shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts.

"I should go."

She frowned, confused by his sudden and strange behaviors. "Are you all right?"

He studied her with those almost eerie eyes, then nodded.

He started for the door. Even with his odd reactions, Jolee didn't want him to leave. Maybe she was more shaken by the incident with Vance than she thought. Or maybe she simply was lonely. Living alone, running a bar essentially by herself, it had been a lonesome time. She wanted to feel like she was connecting with someone.

"You know, you haven't told me your name."

He stopped again, casting a look over his shoulder. He frowned as if the idea of telling his name to her was a foreign concept.

"So, your name?" she prodded. "You do have one, don't you? I can't very well call the neighborhood hero, 'Hey you, now can I?"

He turned back to her, and he actually looked a little uncomfortable. But then, as if the awkwardness hadn't ever been there, his jaw tensed and his eyes grew frosty like chips of pale blue ice. He lifted his chin, and she fully understood the phrase "looking down your nose." She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone look so arrogant.

"You know, as much as I love breaking up family squabbles, I do have things I have to do."

"Oh," she said, stunned by his cool tone, wondering what she'd said to offend him. She did suppose it was a little annoying to have to break up a fight at this time of night, and he had gotten cut in the process. But he didn't have to be quite so haughty about the whole thing. She didn't say that, however. She didn't want to appear ungrateful. She appreciated his help. He had been a hero, and she knew those were too few and far between.

"Well, thank you," she said, following him to the door. She reached for the handle just as he did. Their fingers touched, his on top of hers. Again he jolted away as if the back of her hand was made of molten lava. She dropped her hold on the doorknob, too, startled by his response.

"Sorry," 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 rundown 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.