Kissing with Fangs (2 page)

It wasn't much of an invitation but would have to suffice. She didn't look like she was going to welcome him with open arms.

“Thank you,” he said as he stepped into her living room. She had always kept his office immaculate, so he was shocked to see her apartment looking like a Tasmanian devil had torn it apart.

A pizza container, empty glasses, and paper plates littered the coffee table and floor around it. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles were strewn across the open kitchen counters. Pillows lay on the floor and sported black stains.

“Have you been crying?”

She swiped at the smudges under her eyes. “No.”

“Don't lie to me, Claudia. Have you been depressed ever since the fire?”

She wandered over to her sofa and plopped down on it, dropping her head into her hands. Anthony followed and sat beside her. When she didn't answer his question, he softened his approach.

Rubbing her back, he said, “Tell me what's wrong, Claudia. This can't all be because the bar is gone. Even
I
don't feel that bad about it, and I owned the place.”

She chuckled.

It was a welcome sound. Maybe she still had her sense of humor. If Anthony could get her to see things in a lighter way, he might be able to save her. He picked up a beer bottle from the floor and set it on the coffee table. “I see you decided to open your own bar.”

She raised her face and frowned at him. “I drink when I'm upset. What of it?”

“I'm sure you know this, but alcohol won't help. If anything, it will make you even more depressed.”

She sighed and sagged against the colorful pillows. “I missed the smell of Boston Uncommon. I know that's nuts, but it's the truth. So, that's why…” She made a sweeping gesture toward the well-stocked kitchen-counter bar. Only then did he notice that all the bottles were open and most were empty.

He doubted that was the only reason why, but now was not the time to discuss a possible drinking problem. The thing was, he'd never smelled alcohol on her at work. They shared an occasional brandy when they discussed business before she left for the evening, but he'd never seen her have more than one.

Claudia's eyes shimmered with new tears, and she turned her head away from him.

Anthony couldn't refrain from touching her any more than he could fly to the moon. He reached over and pulled her into his arms.

She leaned against him and sighed. Then she turned her face into his shirt and inhaled deeply.
If
she
knew
I
ran
all
the
way
here, she might not want to do that
. As it was, she seemed to melt into him.

“Claudia, Claudia, Claudia…what am I going to do with you?”

She leaned away from him and looked up into his eyes, searching, yearning—but for what?

Could
she
have
harbored
feelings
for
me
and
hidden
them
so
well
that
I
never
recognized
them?
Well, why the hell not? He had done the same thing around her for the last five years.

From the day she walked into his office to apply for a waitressing job, he had felt the instant pull of attraction. If not for his jealous ex-girlfriend, Ruxandra, showing up, he might have considered acting on it. For Claudia's safety, he had kept her at arm's length. Now here she was safe in his arms, feeling like she'd always belonged there.

Claudia's blond highlights might not be natural, but they made her hair shine like spun gold whenever she stepped under the lights of the bar. He cherished the memory—especially now when it looked as if she hadn't brushed her shoulder-length bob in days.

She seemed to be fading fast. Her eyes fluttered closed, and eventually her breathing took on the long, slow rhythm of sleep. She might have passed out, but Anthony chose to believe she felt so safe in his arms that she could finally relax and let go.

He vowed to hold her until just before dawn, if she didn't wake up before then. At that point, he'd have to leave. Otherwise, he would appear to be the one who'd passed out cold…more like dead. He didn't think she could handle that in her fragile condition.

***

Hours later, Claudia's intercom buzzed. Anthony considered waking her to answer it, but Claudia looked so angelic sleeping in his arms. He edged out of her delicate grasp and laid her down gently.

Who would come to see her at five in the morning?

He touched the intercom speaker button and whispered. “Who is it?”

After a brief delay, a woman's voice said, “Is this Claudia's apartment?”

“May I ask who you are first?”

An impatient male voice called out, “It's her parents. Who the hell are you?”

Oops. Caught in a girl's apartment at 5:00 a.m. by her parents. That hadn't happened in a while. Anthony glanced over at Claudia, who was softly snoring. The apartment was still as disheveled as it had been when he first saw it. If he was concerned for her after seeing that, her parents certainly would be.

“Give me a few seconds to wake her,” he said.

An oath from her father was cut off halfway as Anthony let go of the buzzer. He used his vampiric speed to clean up the apartment. Finding the trash can under the sink, he grabbed the bucket and loaded it with empties until it wouldn't hold any more. Then he simply hid the rest of them. He zoomed around the room once more, putting pillows back on chairs, mascara side down, and placing the empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter.

He stopped to appraise the job he'd done, and everything seemed neat. Then he shook Claudia. “Wake up. Your parents are here.”

She protested with an
agh
.

He shook her harder and called out, “Claudia, wake up!”

At last, she opened her eyes and blinked. “Anthony? What are you…” Then she groaned. “Oh, yeah. I remember now.” She looked shaky as she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

The intercom buzzed again.

“Your parents are here.”

“What?” She shot to her feet and swayed.

Anthony grabbed her arm and clasped her around her waist to steady her. “You need to buzz them in.”

“No. They're in Florida.”

“They're here. If you don't let them in, I'll have to.”

“No! They can't know you're here. Quick. Hide in the bedroom.” She pushed at him, but he didn't move.

“It's too late. I answered the intercom the first time it buzzed.”

She hit him. “Why did you do that?”

He turned her toward the door and marched her over to it. “Let them in. They're probably as worried about you as I was.”

She sighed. “Okay, but first I need to make sure it's really them.” She leaned on the intercom button and said, “Mom? Dad?”

A soft click was followed by her mother pleading, “Open the door, honey,” and her father bellowing, “What kind of daughter lets her parents stand on the sidewalk while she—”

Claudia let go of the intercom and buzzed them in. “That's them all right.”

“I'd better go,” Anthony said.

Claudia glanced around her apartment and her eyebrows rose. “You cleaned up after me?”

“Just a quick tidying up.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

Anthony held her gaze for a moment. Something unspoken but deeply meaningful passed between them. He was fairly sure it was more than gratitude on her part. It certainly was on his.

A hard knock on her door broke the spell.

“Time to face the music—or the cacophony,” Claudia muttered.

Anthony buttoned his suit jacket a moment before she opened the door to reveal a bedraggled-looking couple.

“We drove thirty-six hours straight to get here, young lady,” her father blasted. “You'd better have a damn good excuse for not answering your phone or emails.”

“I—uh…”

Her father turned his anger on Anthony. “Are you the reason she was unreachable for a week?”

“No, Dad,” Claudia quickly said.

Someone upstairs opened their door and yelled down, “It's five o'clock in the friggin' morning. Shut the hell up and let people sleep!”

Claudia opened her door wider. “Come in and try to calm down.”

When her parents were inside the apartment, Anthony extended his hand. “I'm Anthony Cross. I was concerned about her as well.”

Her father stared at Anthony's hand. At last he grasped it and shook twice. “Your hand is cold. You must have arrived just before we did.”

Her mother added, “Even if he's been here all night, she's a grown woman and allowed to have a boyfriend, dear.”

Anthony didn't quite know how to respond to that. Should he let Claudia's father think they were a couple? Fortunately, he didn't have to confirm or deny. Claudia jumped in.

“He's not my boyfriend. He's my old boss.”

“Old boss?” her father said. “Did he fire you? Is that why you look like hell?”

She sighed. “No. He didn't fire me. The fire fired me.” Claudia faced Anthony straight on and shot him a poignant look. “The building that housed the import-export business burned down.”

Import-export? Was that code for “my parents don't know I worked in a bar”?

“Oh! Were you hurt? Is that why we couldn't reach you?” her mother asked, wringing her hands.

Anthony glanced at his watch. He had to get going in order to make it to his lair in Chinatown before the sun came up. It would happen about 5:44 a.m. at this time of year.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but I have to go,” Anthony said.

Claudia smiled gratefully. “Yes, I suppose you must be tired. Thank you for listening to me, uh, talk your ear off.”

Anthony was glad his suit wasn't rumpled and it looked as if talking was all he'd been doing, but how would Claudia explain her appearance?

“I'm glad we talked. I'm sorry I got you out of bed by arriving so late. I'll call you soon so we can continue putting together a plan to get the business back up and running.”

She waved away his fake apology. “Oh, don't worry about getting me up. I'm just glad you're including me in your plans to rebuild.”

“I couldn't do it without you.”

Her parents smiled and seemed to buy into their explanation. Whew. Not bad for a cockamamy story on the fly. He shook hands with both of them, waved to Claudia, and left.

He'd have to zoom back to his place. Public transportation wasn't fast enough. Standing on the sidewalk, he checked for witnesses, and dammit, the garbage truck was rumbling down the street and people were scrambling to get their trash out in time.

Panic gripped him as he noticed the dawn approaching and pictured his bad self bursting into flames in the sun.

As soon as the door closed, Claudia's parents both began talking at once.

“Where were you?”

“Is he really your boss or your boyfriend?”

“What happened?”

Claudia held up both hands. “Whoa. Let me make some coffee first.”

“Oh, yes. Coffee would be nice,” her mother said. “I'm glad you haven't forgotten your manners.”

Manners
are
all
that's keeping me from throwing you out the door.

While Claudia headed to the kitchen, her father said, “So, tell us why you moved from your other apartment. It was so much nicer.”

He dropped into her chair and a crunching noise surprised him. “What the…?” He popped back up and lifted the cushion.

Oh
no.
Now she knew where Anthony had stashed the empty beer bottles.

He pointed to the cracked brown glass. “What's this? Some dangerous version of a whoopee cushion?”

Claudia felt her face heat. “Um, no. Of course not. I had a few friends over before Anthony surprised me with a visit. I just stashed the bottles there because I didn't have time to clean up.”
That
sounds
reasonable.
She hoped they believed her, because it was the best story she had.

Meanwhile, her mother had made it to her kitchen and opened one of the pizza boxes. “It looks like you weren't worried about impressing your friends. Really, Claudia. Pizza and beer? I thought we raised you to be more refined.”

She smiled. “Sorry, Mom.”

“And look at all these glasses in the sink…” Her mother was about to open the dishwasher, and only God knew where Anthony had stored the hard liquor.

“Mom, please! Get out of my kitchen.”

Her mother gasped. “Excuse me? I'm sure you can rephrase that to sound a little less churlish.”

“Sorry. I just—Please, sit on the couch with Dad and let me make you something to eat. You must be hungry after your long drive.”

“That's more like it.” Her mother sniffed and turned on her heel, marching back to the living room.

Claudia usually liked apartments with an open floor plan so she could talk to guests while preparing food, but in this case, she'd rather stick them in another room—or another city—and gather her wits.

She opened the refrigerator, knowing there was precious little to offer anyone in there.
Butter. Peanut butter. Jam. Cheese.
She'd better find a way to make something edible. If not, she was toast. She bolted upright.
Toast!

It wouldn't impress, but it would fill their stomachs.
If
only
I
had
time
to
run
to
the
coffee
shop. Ah!
A brainstorm in her otherwise fuzzy mind formed a solution.

“Why don't we all go to the coffee shop down the street? They have some lovely pastries…”

Her mother studied her with raised eyebrows. “You aren't considering going out like
that
, are you?”

Claudia sighed. As usual, she couldn't do anything right. “Well, we have a choice. I can get cleaned up and we can go out, or I can make PB and J, and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Her father smiled. “With the crusts cut off?”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “That's hardly a decent breakfast.” She started to return to the kitchen. “Is that all you have?”

Claudia grasped her mother's shoulders before she could reenter and spun her around. “I've been away…on a camping trip. That's why I have no food and why you couldn't get in touch with me. There's no cell reception up in the Maine woods.”

Whew! Two explanations with one lie.
She felt brilliant. Now if she could just down a gallon of coffee, she might make it through this inquisition—er, visit.

***

Anthony woke up in unfamiliar surroundings.
Where
the
hell
am
I, and what is that stench?
Then he remembered. He hadn't made it back to his lair in time and had to resort to prying open a manhole and hiding in the sewer to accommodate his death sleep.

Now that it was evening again, he considered going back to Claudia's, but he reeked. Besides, her parents might still be there. A long, steamy shower in his apartment sounded like a much better idea.

He climbed the ladder until he reached the manhole cover. Now to play “guess if anyone is up there or not?” He couldn't use his sense of smell. That was compromised.
Bloody
hell, I might not get the disgusting smell out of my nose for days.

He lifted the lid slightly and listened. Noise of the city met his ears. Mostly traffic rumbling along the busy main drive a block away. He didn't hear any clicking of shoes along the sidewalk, so he pushed the manhole aside and climbed out.

A couple of men who had apparently been leaning against a nearby building spotted him but said nothing. They simply stared as he straightened his lapels, stood tall, then strode off in the direction of his home with his head held high.

He was halfway home when he heard his name being called.

Maybe
it's another Anthony.
He hoped so. He was close enough to the Italian North End for the name to refer to dozens of men.

“Hey, Anthony! Wait up.”

There was no mistaking the voice now. Tory Montana had caught sight of him. Even though Tory was quite a way off, he'd know that Anthony, with his vampiric senses, could hear him.
I
can't very well pretend I don't know one of my former best patrons.

Anthony swiveled around. Despite the darkness, he spotted the African American ex-linebacker jogging toward him. As soon as he'd spotted Anthony waiting for him, Tory slowed to a walk.

***

Almost five years ago, Anthony had been chatting with Claudia in his office when a loud crash came from the bar. Voices shouted and another crash followed.

They charged out of the office, tripping over each other. A bar brawl was in progress, with one gentleman clearly getting the worst end of it. The bouncer, Kurt, jumped between them and pushed. The guys stumbled back a few feet but came at each other with renewed vigor.

Anthony was removing his jacket when Kurt called out, “Stay where you are. I've got this.”

He took down the guy who reached him first and sat on him. Just as the other one was about to take advantage of the situation, another customer tackled the guy, rose, and tucked him under his arm like a football.

“Where do you want this one?” he asked Kurt.

Kurt got up and yanked his guy off the floor by his belt. “You toss that one out the back, and I'll send this one headfirst out the front door onto the sidewalk.”

The helpful customer simply nodded, carried the stunned fighter to the back exit, opened the door, and tossed him into the alley.

Meanwhile, Kurt opened the front door, and despite the guy's loud protest, did what he said he'd do…sent the other fighter sprawling onto the sidewalk.

As the helpful, yet unfamiliar, customer returned, Anthony stuck out his hand.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” He grasped Anthony's hand and shook it. “Are you the owner?”

“Yes. Anthony Cross. And you are?”

“Tory Montana.”

Someone at the bar whirled around on his stool and said, “Tory Montana. I thought you looked familiar. You played for the Steelers, right? What are you doing in Boston?”

Tory tucked his hands in his pockets. “House-sitting for friends. I'm flattered you remember me. I retired in 2006.”

“Seriously?” As the two customers began a conversation, Anthony strolled over to Kurt, who was setting a chair upright.

“What happened?”

Kurt shrugged. “To be honest, nothing. They just walked in here and started throwing punches like they'd already been having an argument.

Anthony lowered his voice. “Montana's
freakishly
strong, if you know what I mean. Maybe we should invite him to the back booth for a free beer—and careful discussion.”

“I read you loud and clear, boss.”

And that's how the coyote shapeshifter became Anthony's second bouncer.

***

Returning from his memory, Anthony waited for Tory to shake his hand, but the shifter came to an abrupt halt and wrinkled his nose. “What's that smell?”

Anthony sagged against a tree. “I was visiting Claudia in Cambridge this morning and couldn't get home in time. I spent the day under the street.”

Tory's eyes widened. “In the sewer?”

“It was the best option I had.”

Tory laughed. “So it would smell.” He held his nose but continued talking, with a nasal tone. “How's Claudia?”

“She'll be okay.”
I
hope.

“So, Cambridge, huh? Did you hear about the lab over there?”

“What lab?”

“Jesus. I thought you knew. Some of the werecops think there's a secret lab over there doing testing on paranormals. They suspect that some kind of screwup exposed the existence of paranormals and caught the attention of a brainiac group. Now scientists are trying to capture as many as they can and study us like lab rats.”

“Shit. Where's this lab located?”

“That's just it. We don't know. Nick Wolfensen heard about it from his cop buddies. He and Kurt Morgan have been looking for it but aren't having much luck. As a wizard, Kurt can avoid capture pretty easily simply by becoming invisible or using that neat time-stopping trick he has, but with no leads…”

“I see. How can I help?”

Tory clapped a big hand over Anthony's shoulder. “Just help yourself. Try to be as inconspicuous as possible.” He sniffed the air. “You might want to start by washing off that stink soon.”

“You're not saying they could overpower a vampire…”

“I don't know. They've found a way to disable weres long enough to get them to the facility.”

“How do you know this?”

“A paranormal they'd held for a while escaped. She told a couple of police officers who happened to be werewolves. Unfortunately, she didn't know the area and couldn't retrace her steps or give them much information. The cops didn't take it too seriously at first because the scientists thought she was some kind of new animal. Then a few weres began disappearing.”

“Crap. Maybe they were seen shifting. That would alert a bunch of overachieving researchers.”

“You know how careful we are. I can't imagine a bunch of paranormals suddenly getting sloppy enough to shift and get caught.”

Anthony doubted it too. Winding up as an experiment—prodded, probed, and possibly dissected—was every supe's worst fear.

“Is there any pattern?”

“Like, do these disappearances happen only during the full moon or in a particular area?”

“Yes. Anything like that?”

“No. I wish it were that easy.”

“Where are you getting your information?”

“Mostly from Kurt and Nick. When he's not helping the police, Nick's been using his paranormal PI skills. Tracking, mostly. His reputation is growing, but I doubt anyone suspects him of the breach. He's always kept our population strictly on the down low.”

“What about his wife? Brandee was human. Could she have spilled the beans?”

“Nick insists she absolutely did not. And why would she? If anything happened to Nick, she'd be devastated.”

Anthony nodded. “That's true. Besides, she proved herself trustworthy long ago when he revealed our world to her. So what do we do?”

“Nothing. Let Kurt and Nick investigate first. If they need our help, they'll ask.”

“If those two are on the case, it's only a matter of time before they find the facility. We can breathe a little easier—not that I breathe much.”

Then Anthony remembered how secretive he'd been about his lair's location. Other paranormals were the same way. How could Nick or Kurt find them if they needed help? “I guess the best thing I can do is rebuild our meeting place as quickly as possible. We need to communicate with each other, and there's strength in numbers.”

Tory grinned. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

***

Maynard peered into his microscope and studied the fish scales from the merman's tail. Said merman was hanging over the side of his giant fish tank, glaring at him.

“That hurt, you know.”

Maynard tried to ignore him.

“How would you like it if I scraped a piece off your leg and stuck it on a glass slide?”

When Maynard didn't answer, the specimen continued talking. Indeed, he had to think of these creatures as impersonally as possible to do what was necessary. A Nobel Prize omelet wasn't made without breaking a few eggs.
Hmmm…I wonder if the mermaids lay eggs in the water and the males spread their sperm over them. I'm not going to ask where his dick is.

“I was minding my own business, just enjoying a swim in the harbor. Who are you to throw a net over me and bring me here?”

“Shut up, fish.” Maynard took a break from his microscope long enough to pull his hair back and secure it with an elastic band.

“I have a name. It's Jules. Jules Vernon. Please use it.”

Using the specimen's name would make the work a lot harder. Maynard had no problem studying cells from rodents, but this was a man—sort of—and one of the most important discoveries ever made. Maynard had to document scientific data to prove he'd found a whole new species. Ever since the invention of computer graphics, a documentary wouldn't do it.

The merman had proved useful, at first. He tried to buy his way out of captivity by giving up what he knew of other paranormal species. Now Maynard and a few trusted scientists like himself worked night and day to capture as many of these “paranormals” as they could find.