"Are you threatening me?" I asked disbelievingly.
"Yes."
"I would need to double check, but I'm almost positive physical threats are in violation of our client contract."
"Oh they are," he said, smiling ferally. "You can run away anytime, little girl."
Lord knows I couldn't resist a challenge. And he'd called me a little girl, the bastard. "Fine," I snapped. "What's the big hullabaloo, vamp?"
He grinned widely, his fangs extending again. The rose, I noticed, was now on his right fang. Interesting.
"I'm going to enjoy you," he said, running a shockingly pink tongue against the rose tooth.
I snorted. "Over my dead body, Dracula."
"How wonderfully apropos. That, you see, is the problem."
"What do you mean?" I asked warily.
Ross reached across the table and gripped my hand tightly. Too tight.
"Ouch, Ross, your hurting me!" I cried.
"Do you swear, Corrie Eaton," Ross intoned, his voice like an icy whip. "Do you swear to hold this secret close to your heart until it ceases beating? Because the day you reveal it without my explicit permission will be your last."
"I swear, alright? Now let go of my hand!"
Ignoring my protests, Ross pulled my wrist once again to his lips, forcing me to lean halfway across the table. "So be it," he whispered, and plunged his rose fang into my palm.
"What. the. fuck."
Ross retracted his fangs and released my hand. "Well, now, that's settled."
"What the hell did you do that for? I'm your publicist, not your dinner!"
"Standard procedure for any high level, species-wide secret. I'm surprised you didn't learn about it at school, although I suppose the last secret we had of this magnitude was several centuries ago. Check out your palm," he instructed, nodding towards my injured hand, in which I held a balled up napkin to staunch the bleeding.
I gingerly removed the sticky napkin from my hand. Huh. Well, would you get a load of that?
"Yes."
"I would need to double check, but I'm almost positive physical threats are in violation of our client contract."
"Oh they are," he said, smiling ferally. "You can run away anytime, little girl."
Lord knows I couldn't resist a challenge. And he'd called me a little girl, the bastard. "Fine," I snapped. "What's the big hullabaloo, vamp?"
He grinned widely, his fangs extending again. The rose, I noticed, was now on his right fang. Interesting.
"I'm going to enjoy you," he said, running a shockingly pink tongue against the rose tooth.
I snorted. "Over my dead body, Dracula."
"How wonderfully apropos. That, you see, is the problem."
"What do you mean?" I asked warily.
Ross reached across the table and gripped my hand tightly. Too tight.
"Ouch, Ross, your hurting me!" I cried.
"Do you swear, Corrie Eaton," Ross intoned, his voice like an icy whip. "Do you swear to hold this secret close to your heart until it ceases beating? Because the day you reveal it without my explicit permission will be your last."
"I swear, alright? Now let go of my hand!"
Ignoring my protests, Ross pulled my wrist once again to his lips, forcing me to lean halfway across the table. "So be it," he whispered, and plunged his rose fang into my palm.
"What. the. fuck."
Ross retracted his fangs and released my hand. "Well, now, that's settled."
"What the hell did you do that for? I'm your publicist, not your dinner!"
"Standard procedure for any high level, species-wide secret. I'm surprised you didn't learn about it at school, although I suppose the last secret we had of this magnitude was several centuries ago. Check out your palm," he instructed, nodding towards my injured hand, in which I held a balled up napkin to staunch the bleeding.
I gingerly removed the sticky napkin from my hand. Huh. Well, would you get a load of that?
