I hissed, realizing the initial act he put on was just that, an act. This was an asshole who thought he knew what he was doing.
“Fine. If you want a fucking vampire killing you tonight—” I let my own anger get the best of me for a moment. I wasn’t really angry at him. My problems weren’t his fault, but the anger was there. So was the fear. So was the need.
“What?” he asked, fear overtaking his face again.
“Gods, you don’t know anything, do you?” I hissed. “Look, Raphael, you need to listen to me. You need to let me explain. There’s more out there trying to get you than you can possibly imagine.”
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and looked at them.
“Vampire?” he asked softly. “I…I once thought they came after me with werewolves, but…Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re real. Or the rumors about fae and witches and…”
“Fuck. Are you good to drive?” I demanded. They went after him with werewolves. Wasn’t Mygi worried they could accidentally Change him? The moon curse wasn’t something to toy around with.
“You’re about to find out everything you’ve ever had questions about. Let’s go,” I ordered.
His first step was tentative, but his next was faster, more secure. By the time we made it to his car, he seemed concentrated and angry again. No, not angry—furious. His expression on any supernatural’s face would worry me a little.
He hit the gas the same way I normally did, slamming the pedal to the floor and causing the tires to screech on the asphalt. The little beaten up and falling apart car took off like a rocket once we were on the street.
And while he drove, I had to quickly figure out how I was going to control myself.
My fangs continued to ache as I fought the need to sink them into his skin and pump my venom into his veins.
8
Chapter Eight
We pulled up to his dirty, small apartment complex and got out of his car in silence. We didn’t talk for the entire drive, something I was grateful for since my fangs kept dropping. At one point, I was tempted to reach into my mouth and push them back into their normal folded position. I knew controlling the urge would be easier over time, but growing up, I had been warned, the initial greeting and confronting of the urge was a bitch to deal with. It took all my self-control not to strike and deal with the problem right then and there, but there were several more pressing matters to deal with, like keeping him alive.
And I barely know the man. I’m sure he would really love a strange woman sinking her fangs into him like a piece of meat.
Well, I can’t be sure what he’s into. His girlfriends did call him Dom.
“Well, this is a shithole,” I commented lightly, trying not to open my mouth much as my fangs dropped again.
“Thanks,” he snapped. “I’m on the top floor.”
Of course you are, because if anyone shows up, getting out has to be as hard as possible.
I followed him up to the third floor and followed him into his apartment. Quickly taking in the environment, the first thing I was able to put together was that Raphael was a drinker. Empty beer bottles sat on every surface. They were the only mess, though. There was no laundry or dirty dishes anywhere, just empty beer and liquor bottles. He hit it pretty hard, but I couldn’t smell alcohol on him nor vomit or anything in the apartment.
So, not a sloppy drunk. There are worse things he could be than a drinker.
“Start talking,” he growled as we walked into the living room.
I picked up one of the beer bottles and decided to throw it in the trash. Why the urge struck me, I didn’t know, but the need to clean up was strong. It wouldn’t be hard to get a garbage bag and fix it up. I didn’t say anything, but the very clear click of a gun going off safety made me turn to him slowly.
“Don’t shoot me,” I said carefully, looking at the gun in his hands, pointed at me. “If you think Mygi is a problem for you now, you can’t even begin to comprehend the problems you’ll have if you accidentally kill me.”