Chapter 1 : Part 3

Fanged & Fabulous
by Michelle Rowen

(Page 3 of 6)

I sank my teeth (fangs included) into his hand as deep as I could, and he pulled away with surprise and a sudden yelp of pain.

He smacked me across the side of my face. "Shouldn't have done that, vampire."

"You touch me again and my boyfriend is going to rip your lungs out," I hissed.

"Yeah?" He smirked and looked around from his position on top of me. "I don't think I see your boyfriend anywhere. Or anyone else for that matter. It's just you and me."

"He's a master vampire and he's not a big fan of hunters. Lungs? Ripped out? Do I need to repeat myself?"

That got his attention. "A master vampire? In Toronto? There's only one that I've heard of."

"That's him. Do I need to mention the ripping out of lungs again?"

His raised stake lowered slightly, and his brow furrowed. "Did you say your name was Sarah?"

"So what if I did?"

"Sarah Dearly?"

I struggled to get out from under him but he had me pinned too firmly. "Get off me, you bastard."

Surprisingly, he did. As if there were wires attached to his body like a marionette, he sprang to his feet and stared at me with a deep frown while I slowly got up and brushed myself off.

"Sarah Dearly," he repeated. "The master vampire's girlfriend."

I glanced at him warily. "How do you know my name?"

His eyes widened. He breathed in a deep breath of cold air and let it out slowly before he spoke again. "Everyone knows about you."

"Everyone?"

"The Slayer of Slayers." He said it under his breath and took a step backward.

"The what of the what?"

"Last month . . . the massacre at the vampire lair. You killed so many hunters . . . so many . . . " His voice trailed off and he brought a hand to his mouth.

What in the hell was he talking about?

He took another step backward and hit the thick trunk of a tall oak tree next to a park bench. "I . . . I . . . should never have . . . " His eyes shifted back and forth and I noticed the hand that held the stake was now shaking. "Please, spare me. That whole thing earlier, me acting all tough . . . that was just an act. The other hunters . . . they're so mean, and they all think I'm weak. I was just out for a hot dog and a Coke, that's all. Please, don't hurt me. I was kidding about the fang necklace! Really!"

Last month, there had been a hunter/vampire showdown at the Midnight Eclipse, my boyfriend (sounds like a silly thing to call a six-hundred-year-plus-old vampire, but that's what he was) Thierry's secret vampire bar.

It was true that the night in question was a major deal, that a lot of people got hurt, both hunter and vampire, and that I may have . . . possibly . . . sort of . . . had to kill a hunter named Peter, jerk that he was. But that had been pure self-defense - and something I was still feeling great gobs of greasy guilt from, even though he'd majorly deserved it. And it had been with a gun, not with my bare teeth as Chad seemed to indicate with the fearing-for-his-life expression on his now-sweaty face.

Now everyone knows my name?

The theme song from Cheers suddenly began to play in my head.

I took a step toward him and he fell to his knees, the stake falling to the ground. He put his hands together and began to pray in barely coherent whispers. With a trembling hand he reached inside his shirt to pull out a heavy silver cross, which he then held up to ward himself against me.

I sighed. Let's just nip this in the bud, shall we?

I closed the remaining distance between us, reached forward, and grabbed the cross to show him that it didn't hurt me at all. It was quite pretty, actually. And shiny. His eyes widened in fear.

Then I grabbed his shirt and pulled him up to his feet - easy to do since he was like a rag doll now - then brought him close enough that our eyeballs were only inches from each other.

"I will let you live . . . today," I said, calmly and dangerously. I used to aspire to become a world-famous, well-paid actress, so I just called on that questionable ability to give my words a little extra weight. "But if you or your friends come near me again, I shall bathe in your blood."

Ew. Did I just say that? How disgusting.

Copyright © 2007 by Michelle Rowen

About the Author

Michelle Rowen was born in Toronto, Ontario. As a child she decided that when she grew up she would become a flight attendant, a jewel thief, or a writer. One out of three ain't bad. She is a self-confessed bibliophile, the proud owner of an evil cat named Nikita, Reality TV junkie, and has an unhealthy relationship with all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer.