Fangs for Sharing (Supernatural in Seattle #1) Read online

  “You know what I want, Pigs.” Eugene’s sappy tone assures me I’m not going to like the rest of what he has to say. “You and me. Together. The way we used to be. The way we belong. We’re meant for each other, Sparkle Girl.”

  Tears prick at my eyes, but not because of any lingering feelings for Eugene. I would like to be someone’s Sparkle Girl. Would like to have someone who really saw me and cared about me. Maybe even loved me, at least enough not to turn me into a rhinoceros without my permission.

  “I can’t,” I say. “It’s not going to work, Eugene. Us. You know that. Even before Courtney and Uma, we were struggling.”

  “Because you were too focused on the pageant.”

  “Because you were too focused on work,” I counter. “Did you really expect me to sit at home, missing dance classes and training sessions, when you were always at least an hour late to pick me up?”

  “I would have left work early if you’d asked me to,” he counters. “You should have let me know that showing up on time was important to you, Eliza. You’ve got to learn to communicate. That’s what words are for.”

  I sigh. “You could be right, but the bottom line is we didn’t work, Eugene. We’re not long-term compatible. We’re just too different.”

  “Especially now.” The nasty note in his voice sets my molars to grinding. “Goodbye and good luck, Pigs. It’s a hard world out there for an angry girl who’s all alone, without anyone to protect her from the big bad wolves.”

  “No! Don’t hang up. We’re not finished yet!” I shout, but he doesn’t respond, and I know he won’t. Eugene likes to have the last word—it’s one of the many things that drove me nuts about him.

  Sure enough, a second later the line goes dead.

  I curse, letting my arm fall to my side.

  If only I’d broken up with him sooner. If I had, maybe I could have slipped away without getting on his revenge list. Though, probably not. Eugene isn’t the sweet, fun-and-friendly nerd I thought he was when we met at a Snuggly Super Pug comic-signing and costume party last fall. He’s a bona fide mad scientist, a sociopath who is fine with putting my life in danger if that’s what it takes to get what he wants.

  Murder.

  I could be murdered.

  Maybe soon.

  So far, I haven’t seen any creepy tattooed people with sticks lurking in the darkness tonight, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, just waiting for me to take the shortcut through the park, where they’ll be able to slaughter me on the community lawn and devour my intestines in peace, without law enforcement getting involved.

  The cops don’t step foot in the park after dark. Most sane people don’t set foot in the park during the day, either. It isn’t a family-friendly green space anymore. I only run there when I don’t have time to make it across town to the ritzier running paths, and I always run fast, without headphones to distract me, and with my trusty can of mace clutched tightly in hand.

  The only reason I cut into the woods last night was that I knew the twisting trails were my only shot at ditching the guys with the sticks. And because I was a rhino at the time.

  That’s one good thing about shifting into a creature that weighs more than a city bus—there’s not much left to be afraid of. Except for people with guns.

  Or shifters with guns…

  They could bring guns next time. And even rhino skin isn’t thick enough to deflect bullets.

  Heart slamming against my ribs, I duck into a covered alcove in front of the closed tattoo parlor at the end of the block, clutching my phone tighter as the real-life implications of Eugene’s warning about the Kin Born sink in.

  I hide behind a column of bricks, taking another careful peek up and down the eerily deserted street.

  When I first starting working part-time at I Scream, You Scream, I thought it was cute that a gourmet ice cream parlor stayed open later than the bars and clubs in the trendy east Ballard neighborhood. But that was back when I had a car parked in the employee lot waiting to carry me safely home.

  Before I crushed my vintage VW bug to bits.

  Before I started going rhino every time my blood pressure rises too high.

  Before I heard the faint scuff of footsteps from the alley to my left…

  I hold my breath, ears straining, but the night is quiet. Quiet… Quiet for so long that I’ve nearly convinced myself I was imaging things when it comes again.

  Scuff, scuff, and the faint crunch of gravel beneath a heavy shoe.

  And maybe it’s just an ordinary creepy person stalking me, not a creepy supernatural shifter person who wants to kill me with a stick or a bullet or a missile launcher or whatever it would take to murder a rhinoceros, but it doesn’t make much of a difference to my racing heart. A taste like overripe beets floods into my mouth—earthy and thick—and the hair on my arms stands on end as the centers of my bones begin to tremble, signaling a shift is just a few rapid heartbeats away.

  “Calm down, calm down,” I chant softly, eyes sliding closed as I will my shoulders to relax away from my ears and my jaw to unclench.

  I have to stay human.

  I have to hold my shit together.

  I can’t afford to let my imagination get the—

  “Don’t be afraid.” The silky voice hums through the darkness mere inches from my ear, and I squeal, jump half a foot into the air, and explode into a fear-shift, slipping my skin too fast for the fact that the voice is familiar to make one bit of difference.

  Chapter 3

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a girl’s secret crush always shows up at the worst possible moment. Always.

  Or maybe it’s just me.

  But you can bet your life, if I’ve just put on a face mask that smells like cat vomit or shouted for Leerie to toss up a fresh roll of toilet paper because we’re out in the upstairs bathroom and my period is trying to murder my vagina, Reagan O’Rourke—Rourke to his friends—is going to be there.

  Likely with my less than secret crush, Leo “Crystalline Blue Eyes of a Siberian Husky, Body of a Greek God, and Brain of a Compassionate Philosopher” Poplov, not far behind.

  I can usually manage to hide my butterflies with funny, flirty Rourke, but Leo reduces me to a stammering puddle of lust every time.

  “Good work,” Leo says, making all four of my rhino knees go weak as I waddle out onto the wide sidewalk.

  His dry tone gives nothing away, but as he emerges from the shadows of the alley, his Siberian Husky eyes are flashing like pissed-off sapphires, and his manly jaw is clenched tight.

  My lips part on an apology, but all that emerges is a bellowing squawk-honk. I don’t know if all rhinos screech like giant, frightened chickens, or if that’s a side effect of my scrambled DNA, but the contrast between my massive body and derpy voice makes me feel even more ridiculous.

  And stressed.

  And when I’m stressed, I eat. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve snagged a mouthful of baby spring leaves from the scraggly tree growing through a crack in the sidewalk and am chowing down like my life depends on it.

  Rourke, who thankfully isn’t dead or crushed, ambles out onto the sidewalk in front of me, cupping my leathery face in one hand with an apologetic smile. “Sorry to scare you, ’Liza. We were trying to keep a low profile, but I guess your hearing is better than it used to be, eh? Even in your human form?”

  I nod, chewing faster. I want to stop chewing—Rourke is probably grossed out enough by my gray skin and beady eyes without getting a close-up view of my rhino cud—but I can’t. I come into this body ravenous. Unless I’m trying to extricate myself from the windshield stuck around my neck or running from bad guys, all I can do is eat.

  About those bad guys…

  I cast a nervous glance up and down the street, another honk-groan escaping without permission. Weirdly, Leo seems to understand what I’m worried about.

  “She’s right. We have to find cover. She isn’t safe out in the open.” He walks to the edge
of the sidewalk, eyes narrowing at the entrance to the park on the other side of the street. “Those trees should do for now, but if we see another Kin Born patrol, we have to be prepared to move fast. Even if they can’t see us, they’ll be able to catch our scent. And we’ll absolutely be outnumbered.”

  “Or she could shift back, and we could just take her home,” Rourke says, catching my eye as I grab another bite of skinny elm. Or oak. Or whatever it is. My human self doesn’t know much about tree species, and my rhino self isn’t picky about what she puts in her mouth.

  “Leerie said she can’t control it,” Leo says. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “No, we’re here because we care about Eliza,” Rourke counters, “and want to make sure she stays in one piece until we can find that twat of an ex-boyfriend of hers and turn him inside out through his left nostril.” Rourke winks at me. “We’re going to use the left one because I’ve heard that one hurts more.”

  I squawk-bleat, and a chunk of half-chewed cud falls from my mouth with a juicy splat, ensuring I’m so mortified I will never laugh in rhino form again.

  Rourke pats my neck, seeming not to notice my foulness. But this is the man who taught me how to be a card shark nearly as dangerous as he is himself. He’s got a poker face that won’t quit and is far too kind to bring attention to embarrassing behavior. But that doesn’t mean he’s ever going to forget that I almost buried his designer shoe in rhino spit.

  “Eugene’s not going to get away with this,” Rourke continues. “Leo and I are going to make damn sure of it. So you can relax, Princess Pea. Just take a deep breath and let it out slow and easy.”

  I snuffle and press closer to his hand.

  Unlike “Piglet,” Rourke’s pet name for me makes me feel adorable. He started calling me Princess Pea after last year’s New Year’s Eve dinner. I was the only one who felt the tiny gift box he’d hidden beneath the cushions of our chairs as a surprise to be pulled out after the clock struck twelve. I’d ruined it by discovering my gift halfway through the salad course, but Rourke hadn’t cared. He’d only laughed and insisted I open my present first.

  It was an antique bracelet with ballerina-themed charms dangling from a silver chain. I’d worn it all the time, but not since I turned rhino. I don’t want to risk breaking such a sweet gift, one of the only presents I’ve ever gotten from a man.

  And yes, the man is supposed to be wooing my roommate, and he has no idea that his dimple and dreamy green eyes do things to me that are far from “just friendly,” but I don’t care. The gift is still special, almost as special as the present Leo slipped under my door before he left my birthday party last fall. It was a check for fifty-thousand dollars, along with a note saying he wanted to help make my dreams come true.

  And even though I will never cash the check—it was too generous of him, and I’m determined to make it on my own—it meant so much that he believed in me.

  I glance his way now, wondering if he still believes in me, but his arctic eyes are unreadable. The only hint that he might be anxious is the slight tick at the corner of his jaw and the chill in his fingers as he rests a hand on the other side of my neck.

  Contrary to popular lore, vampires aren’t usually cold to the touch. Leo and Rourke both run hotter than most humans, a consequence of their faster metabolisms or magic or something that I missed due to the fact that Leo was touching me when he explained it. It was just my elbow, to make sure I didn’t take a spill down my front steps in my three-inch heels the last time Leerie, Rourke, Leo, and I went to the opening of one of the bars Leerie did interior design work for, but it was enough to befuddle my brain.

  Even now, in a body that doesn’t feel like mine, with skin so thick a spear jammed into my shoulder felt about as nasty as a paper cut, the feel of Leo’s hands on me—both their hands on me, something that has never happened before, but that I’ve thought about far too often—makes me dizzy.

  Disoriented.

  Aware…

  So aware that when Rourke leans in to whisper, “Just close your eyes, relax, and know it’s all going to be all right,” electricity zips across my skin, and my heart beats faster.

  But for some reason, even though I’m definitely more worked up than Zenned out, my bones begin to buzz. I close my eyes, homing in on the sensation, one of the early signs that I might be able to go human again.

  “That’s right.” Leo places his other hand on my neck beside the first. “Exhale to a count of five, four, three, two, one. Now inhale for four, three, two…”

  He continues to count me up and down, in and out, and I breathe, following his lead. Amazingly, after only a minute, maybe two, the earthy flavor of an impending shift fills my mouth and—poof!—I turn back into a butterfly.

  Or into a girl, rather.

  A fuzzy haired, sweaty-palmed, naked girl, who instantly slaps an arm over her breasts and a hand down to cover her could-use-a-wax lady parts and turns firecracker red.

  All the times I’ve secretly dreamed of ending up naked with Leo or Rourke, it’s never been like this.

  Rourke reaches for the zipper on his jacket. “Hey, there you are. Good job, love, and no worries. We’ve all been there. Had to walk home buck naked a few years ago after some kids stole my clothes while I was skinny dipping.”

  “Take this,” Leo says. “It should be long enough to cover you.”

  I look up to see Leo’s jacket already on the ground and his white button-up shirt off and held out to me.

  He averts his eyes as I slip my arms into the sleeves and whisper, “Thank you,” in a post-shift rough voice that’s still squawky around the edges.

  “Of course.” Leo squeezes my upper arm through the fabric. The cotton is still warm from his body, and the touch is so comforting I have to fight the urge to lean into him, rest my cheek on his chest, and sigh in relief.

  But considering he’s not wearing a shirt—and looks so beautiful half naked that my pulse is stutter-dancing in my veins—that wouldn’t be a good idea. Tingly feelings don’t seem to have the same effect on me as fear or rage, but I can’t afford to risk another shift. Not only is shifting exhausting and dangerous, but Leo might be less inclined toward sympathy if I ripped through his swanky duds.

  Vampires wear ridiculously expensive clothes, and from the feel of this whisper-soft cotton, this shirt is no exception.

  I look up at him, still embarrassed, but feeling better now that I’m not the only one who’s showing a little skin. “So what now?”

  “Now, we get you home,” Leo says, “assure Leerie that we kept you safe, and discuss how best to keep you that way.”

  A long, low howl cuts through the night, echoing through the lonely streets. I shiver. It’s hard to tell where it’s coming from, but it sounds close. Too close.

  Apparently, Leo agrees.

  “I’ll carry her. You watch our backs,” he says, scooping me into his arms before I can protest that I’m fine to run in bare feet. And then I’m so busy marveling at how soft Leo’s skin is above all his hard muscle, and how incredibly fast both he and Rourke are able to run, that I can’t speak a word.

  I simply cling to Leo’s neck and watch the cool part of Ballard get farther and farther away, instinctively knowing I won’t be seeing it again anytime soon.

  Chapter 4

  Back home, at our cottage set away from the road and hidden by tangles of vines my roommate’s green thumb keeps lush year-round, Leerie is waiting by the door.

  As Leo climbs the steps, still with me gathered to his chest, I see she’s got my robe in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Her long red curls are backlit by the lamp in the kitchen, and her pale green eyes are blazing with fury. She looks like an avenging banshee, ready to reap the soul of any villain foolish enough to cross her path.

  But of course, she’s a fairy, not a banshee, and the scariest thing she reaps is massive amounts of mugwort from the garden for her magical herbal teas.

  “Tell me you’re okay.” She shak
es her head, sending her curls bouncing. “Or I’m going to hunt down every Kin Born asshole in the greater Seattle metro area and cut their paws off. They didn’t hurt you again, did they?”

  “No, I’m okay,” I say as Leo sets me down in front of the door. “A little shaken, but fine.”

  “Oh, pumpkin, come here.” Leerie motions me into the house with her robe-holding hand, setting it to fluttering in the cool breeze. “I swear I’m going to curse Eugene for this. Give him a fantastic case of genital warts. And scurvy. With a nasty head cold for good measure.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble, shrugging into my kimono-style wrap before casting a glance over my shoulder. “And thanks for sending the cavalry.”

  Leerie smiles. “Well, even unwanted suitors are good for something every now and then.” She circles her arm at Rourke and bare-chested Leo. “Come in, come in. Let me get you two something to drink. I have blackberry-syrup laced O-negative or some straight-up AB positive.”

  “Positive sounds heavenly, Leerie,” Rourke says, his Irish accent lilting into his voice the way it often does around my roomie. Leerie was born and raised in a fairy kingdom in Northern Germany, has lived in the States long enough to have an American accent, and has never set foot on Irish soil, but Rourke swears she’s the spitting image of the girl who stole his heart when he was a sixteen-year-old sailor living in County Cork.

  In 1756.

  Because Rourke is over three hundred years old, a hundred years older than Leerie and a hundred and fifty older than Leo, who wasn’t turned until near the end of the nineteenth century.

  But you’d never know Leo is the baby of the group. He’s so serious and solemn, while Rourke and Leerie are always ready with a joke.

  Especially Rourke.

  “What about you, dear ‘Liza?” Rourke wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze as he moves into the kitchen. “You could probably use something to wet your whistle, aye? Wash the taste of elm out of your mouth?”