Bits of drywall rained down as I tried to turn my head, but Drake kept my face firmly planted in the carpeting. So far down, that when I breathed, the shag tickled the inside of my nostrils. Not that I was doing a whole lot of breathing, more like short, gasping pants. The man weighed a ton and was laying on top me like my own personal protective leather tarp.
"Imrely camnot beeth," I gurgled.
"What?" His whispered breath brushed my ear, sending a tingle rushing through my body which made my legs jerk as if he had hit them with a reflex hammer.
"Imrelly camnot beeth!" I mumbled into the carpet again, trying to get the big oaf off me. Seriously, the man was dead weight. No pun intended.
Realizing he was trying to suffocate me, he eased his hand up off my head. Gasping for air, I turned my face sideways and greedily sucked in precious lungful's, catching a whiff of his amazing scent along the way. That Earthy, musky smell mixed with brawn and leather needed to be bottled and sold by the gallon with Channing Tatum naked gracing the label. They'd make millions.
I was about to bury my nose into the collar of his jacket and OD on the piney freshness of it, when I noticed he was stretched out half on top of me with two impressively sized, black guns pointed towards my front door. His face was a mask of fury with his lips pulled back in a snarl that would put a Doberman to shame. The image of him in full badass mode was so hot, my genitals wept with joy.
Four more holes appeared above our heads causing a piece of drywall the size of a flat screen TV to fall on my head, totally making me forget about my genitals and forcing me to focus on a different part of my anatomy. Saving my ass.
"What the hell is going on?" I yelled while trying to brush drywall dust off my black turtle neck. Great, I looked like the victim of a flourmill accident.
"We're being shot at," he snapped, positioning himself between me and the door.
"No shit, Sherlock!" I screamed as more bullets where banged into my living room wall, turning it into a piece of Swiss cheese. Mrs. Myrtle was never going to believe those holes were caused by termites.
"Why are they shooting at us?" I hissed at him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his trench coat and shaking it like a terrier with a squeaky toy. Okay...I admit it. I was totally losing my cool. So sue me.
Drake pulled his arm away and leveled me with a frosty stare. "Because you exist."
"Well...that's just stupid. I've always existed! I pay my taxes...hell...I even voted, once." Okay, so technically I've never voted for an actual president, but I did vote for American Idol once. You're welcome Kelly Clarkson.
"As a vampire." He rolled his eyes so hard, I thought he might be checking on the condition of his brain. "You exist as a vampire and they're here to take you in. Dead or alive."
"Jokes on them, I'm already dead," I snorted.
"You're kidding me right." He fixed me with one of those, "you're a special kind of stupid" looks.
"I'm a vampire, which makes me a member of the undead." I pointed proudly at myself. "You can't take somebody in dead who is already dead...duh!" I rolled my eyes like he did, but that actually kind of hurts when you over exaggerate an eye roll.
Frowning at me, he dropped one of his guns and grabbed my hand. Rolling over, Fang brought it to his chest like he wanted me to give him a belly rub. It was sort of cute. "Here." He placed my palm over his chest above his heart. "You feel that? That's a heartbeat, baby. One I'd like to keep, if you don't mind."
Sure enough, under my palm his heart beat strong and steady. I sat up and brought my hand to my own chest, feeling the same thundering. It was a total Hellen Keller moment.
"I'm not dead," I said in awe.
A round of machine gunfire went off about six inches above my head so loud I screamed as Fang jerked me back down into his arms.
"Stay down or you might end up fucking finding out what it's like to be really dead," he hissed at me.
"What happened to the popping quiet holes?"
"They must have gotten tired of the silencers and went with the big guns," he muttered as he rolled over and refocused the business end of his guns towards the front of the house.
"Do you have a bigger gun in that trench coat?" I asked, crawling up next to him.
"I got all the gun you need right here, baby." He winked at me and gave me a lewd grin.
"Really? My house is being shot up and you bring out the sexual innuendos?" I tried to give him a stern disapproving look like the one my fifth grade homeroom teacher gave me every day, but failed. It was kind of funny. It also gave me an idea. "Give me one of your guns."
I reached out trying to snag one, but he pulled it away faster than a girl untagging herself from a photo that makes her look fat.
"I don't think so, Red," he said shaking his head and looking at me as if I had grown two.
"I need a gun!" I whined as another round of gunshots blasted through my house. This time filling the floral couch full of holes. Bits of foam and spring perforated out from the gaping holes.
"You just tried to stake me with a toothpick! Do you really think I'm going to give you a fucking weapon?"
"It was an accident." I shrugged.
"Accident my ass," he muttered.
"Fine." I belly crawled over to my spoon shovel.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"I need something to protect myself with." Grabbing my trusty spoon and abandoned purse, I shimmied back over to him.
"Great, you can dig our graves or offer them the soup of the day." He crawled along the floor until he was by one of the front windows with me following close behind.
Speaking of behinds. If his ass had a "Like" button, I'd be clicking that sucker all day. I know it was completely inappropriate thought to have beings my house was beginning to resemble the pores on Brion's face, but if this was going to be my last day on Earth, what a view to die by.
"Can you ghost?"
I pulled my eyes away from his posterior and stared blankly at him. "Ghost? As in Casper the Friendly or Ghost as in Patrick Swayze, because...dude...I don't think we have time for either."
Although, I must admit, the thought of getting all hot, steamy and dirty with the tall, dark and sexy vampire on potter's wheel didn't exactly turn me off. If he was referring to Casper, well...I had no clue what kind of kink could be conducted running around with sheets over our heads. Now, if we shared that sheet, maybe.
Another volley of gunfire shattered around us and I yelped, trying to burrow myself further underneath Drake as he dragged me closer to his side.
"I don't think now is the best moment to be getting frisky," I yelled from somewhere under his armpit as the world around us exploded.
"I...," he sighed and did a facepalm. "You really are the strangest women I have ever met," he muttered. "I meant ghost as in..." and he disappeared.
POOF! Just like that...gone. All that lingered was the faint smell of leather. I was about to start screaming like a banshee in heat, when he reappeared over by the kitchen doorway and started crawling his way back over to me. I swallowed my scream and ended up belching in his face.
He frowned at me, waving one of his gunned hands to clear the air. "What the fuck did you eat?"
I blushed beet red. Oh...nothing Fang, just a little pussy for dinner, I thought as my face burned with embarrassment. "Never mind that! What the hell did you just do?"
"I ghosted," he stated matter-of-factly as if he was discussing the weather and not breaking the boundaries of science. "It's how vampires get around."
"That was..." I paused, gapping at him like a goldfish. "That was freaking awesome!" It was then and there, for the first time in my life...I fangirled. "How do I do that?" I almost jumped up and down in my excitement, but the window we'd been hiding under shattered into a gazillion pieces. Showering us with broken glass and splintered wood.
"No time for that now, Red," he said through clenched teeth as he slowly eased his way to peek though the now glassless window. "Their aim is getting better."
"Who is they?" I asked irritated, picking glass out of my hair. How in the world was I going to explain the mess my house was becoming to Mrs. Myrtle? Unless there was a redneck, drunk guy spotted in the neighborhood who recently went on a joy ride in a Sherman tank, I was SOL.
"I am assuming its Stoker's boys," he growled, his eyes glowing brightly. Which, by the way, is the sexiest noise I have ever heard when Fang isn't doing it to me.
"Stoker?"
"Abram Stoker."
"The Count Dracula guy?" I gasped, remembering the name from my Googling.
It wasn't possible. It would make the guy...Drat! More math. Screw it! It didn't matter, the dude would be more than over-the-hill...he'd be ancient. A moldy oldie.
Fang looked at me annoyed. "Abram Stoker the fourth." Seeing that I still wasn't catching, on he sighed. "He's the great, great, grandson of the guy who wrote the book." He said the last word as if he had just stepped in a big pile of dog poo barefoot and it had oozed up between his toes.
"What does he have against me? I've never even read his book!"
Bullets whizzed over our heads and we flattened ourselves as close to the shag carpet as possible.
"I'll give you a history lesson later," he snarled. "What we need now is to get the fuck out of here before they turn us into pin cushions." He carefully rose up and scanned the night. "That is if you want to leave with me this time," he stated flatly, turning his icy gaze towards me.
I clutched my spoon shovel and purse, looking at his chiseled face. He was handsome as hell, but also had the look of an assassin. Those guns he carried weren't your average weekend warrior gear and he was totally at ease with them. But, if he had wanted to kill me, he could have done it a thousand times by now. More gunfire erupted and Drake hugged me to his massive chest, rolling us out of the way as bullets plunked into the carpeting where we had been laying moments before. I felt like a pig in a leather blanket.
"You need to make a choice, Red. Me or them?" he puffed in my ear.
Frankly, I didn't stand a chance without him. Besides, he had the guns that weren't trying to kill me at the moment. "I'm all yours, Fang."
"Drake," he growled.
I rolled my eyes. "I'll call you whatever you want big guy if you can get us out of here in one piece."
Drake blew out a breath. "Right. Stay here," he instructed sternly, getting up and making a hunched over sprint for the kitchen. Bullets nipping at his heels as he ran.
I heard scraping sounds, followed by a strange pop and hissing. He came hoofing it back double time, grabbing my wrist in a bone crunching hold and hurling us out the window while shots pinged all around. Drake took aim and fired one shot towards the kitchen as we sailed through the air in a cloud of flapping leather.
My house exploded in a spectacular brilliance of light and fire, making my eyes burn and sending us hurtling backwards into the yard. We landed hard on the ground along with several parts of what was once my roof and the toilet. Chaos ensued around us as strange voices barked orders and one dark silhouette came running out from behind what was left of Thumbelina's house flaming like the human torch. My super sonic hearing picked up the distant sounds of sirens.
Holy Moses on a pogo stick! He blew up my house! I sat shocked with my mouth hanging open and my hair smoldering watching everything I owned going up in flames. My clothes...the wooden fork...my SHOES!!
"That was your big plan!" I screeched at him as he picked me up, dragging me, my purse and spoon towards Gizmo. The only three things I owned in the whole world now thanks to Mr. Pyrotechnic.
"Keep your voice down!" he snapped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully they were still occupied trying to put out their blazing comrade. "It got us out of there didn't it?" he murmured, trying to jiggle the handle of the driver's side door. He cranked his elbow back and hurtled it towards the window, breaking and entering intent on his face.
"Hey!" I grabbed his careening elbow and threw all my weight into my heels, stopping his momentum. "Don't you dare break Gizmo's window! You put one scratch on my baby and I will break out a level of crazy that will make your nightmares seem like a trip to Disneyland."
"Gizmo?" His eyebrows shot up.
"My car." I dug through my purse and held up the keys, dangling them in front of his nose.
Well...that's one way to escape. Will Mel and Drake make it out of the yard? Will Mel forgive him for blowing up her house? Will she get to play Ghost with Drake?
Stay tuned for the next installment of FANGED to find out .
Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. If you liked it please give it a vote and comments are always appreciated. If you don't see any updates here...check out my other two stories Bending Steele or When Roses Collide.