Page 3 of Bewitched (Hexes and Fangs: Holiday Editions #1)

"N eo? You have a gift."

I wrap the silky robe around my body and walk into the kitchen. A coal box with a bow in the same shade is placed on the table. Zilla is smiling. "Good morning! First flowers and notes, now gifts?"

I release the air trapped in my lungs since I left my room and I unwrap the ribbon.

"For the Moon’s sake!" Zilla screams and runs to the sink to spit out the coffee. "Are those real eyes?"

The surfaces of the box are splattered with blood.

Removed from the body, the eyes are situated in precise alignment on a black cushion.

The cornea is vulnerable to dehydration.

The optic nerve serves no more function, atrophy occurring with every second.

His once-blue irises are dimmer, gore tainting their tint.

The metallic odor of copper wafts from the box, making Zilla feel nauseous again.

"I recognize them..." I look over to Zilla. "These are the eyes that watched me shower."

With the package held tight, I speed down the street hoping that nobody catches the sight of the blood.

I wonder if the eyes are spinning on the cushion and slamming against the box's walls with every step I take.

Stuffing it full was like trying to fill a bottomless pit.

Biding my time for him to show once more, I stop in the same location we crossed paths yesterday.

Should I leave the box here? What if someone else finds it…

it has my fingerprints on it... Damn it!

I tilt my head to look at the brick building beside me. Yesterday he came out from it.

"Mornin’, nightshade!"

His voice sends a shiver cascading down my spine. Like phantom fingers dancing lightly across every single vertebrae. I turn my head to the left, and there he is—nonchalantly settled on his sleek black dirt bike. His helmet sits firmly in place. He is a shadow in every way. As dark as night.

"What the fuck?" I approach him and hit his chest with the box. His eyes won't leave mine to look at anything else. Towering in front of me, he stands up.

"What makes you think it was me?"

"You ki… You know what’s in the box!"

"Not here." He has a haunting voice. One that crawls and glues itself in your inner ear.

"Oh, sorry I'm in the wrong place, murderer!"

He inhales.

"Sit."

"What? No!"

"I'll take you to your shop, we can talk there."

"Sure… kill me, dump my body in my cauldron and boil me after." He removes his helmet and hands it to me. "Sit!"

"I am wearing a skirt…" Holding his helmet against my chest, I glance down at my legs and then up at him once again. He hands me his hoodie after removing it. A black T-shirt covers his torso. Both his arms are covered in tattoos. But I spot the veins, perfectly sculpted under his colored skin.

"Take your skirt off."

"Excuse me?"

"Put this on. Take off your skirt. My hoodie is big enough to cover you completely."

"Fine... turn around!"

I slip into his hoodie. The scent of cigarettes and perfume intertwines, baptizing both my hair and skin. I let my skirt fall over my boots and glance up through my long black hair to see him observing me.

"I said, turn around!"

I know I am burning in his dirty mind.

He kneels before me, drops the box on the ground, reaches over and puts my hand on his shoulder. One after the other, he lifts my feet by grabbing my ankle and helps me out of my skirt.

"Have you rode before?" He stands up pulling his hoodie over my thighs with his fingers. "Bikes." A playful smirk surfaces on his lips, crafting dimples on both sides of his cheeks, and I catch his tattoo moving as he swallows.

"You are going to be my first."

He chuckles. His white teeth showing off his fangs. Hot. Annoying. Annoyingly hot. He approaches me and removes his helmet from my grasp with one hand while tucking my hair behind my ear with the other.

"Your piercing might bother you while wearing the helmet."

"Then you wear it."

He clicks his tongue.

"You are not riding without it." He puts the helmet on the bike and brings his fingers to my ear.

As he removes my earring, his cold fingertips are gently touching my skin.

He then brings it to his mouth. Disgusting.

His existing one merging with mine now. Two silver ball closure rings piercing the web of skin beneath his tongue. Hot.

"I don’t know if you are aware, but you have the option to put it in your pocket."

"And lose it? No way." He snatches the helmet and puts it over my head.

"What about the… box?"

"What box?" He locks the chin strap probably too tightly under my chin.

"Funny." I nudge the package with my boot. He thumps my forehead gently with his palm, to ensure the helmet is in place, and my head jerks back from the impact; he picks up my skirt and the box and hurls them into his bag.

"Front or backpack?"

"What?" The helmet makes my voice sound deeper and more muted.

"Definitely front." He positions himself on the bike and taps the seat in front of him.

Between his legs, I sit. His hands grasp my waist and he yanks me in, until my lower back connects with his body.

At the jolt, my hand automatically clutches his thigh and I stare down at his leg.

At my hand that lays on his leg. And the only thing I can think of…

besides the sensation of gradually feeling horny…

is that I want to take my knife to cleave the skin that my fingers touched.

He inclines closer, gently shifting his hands from my hips just above my thighs, pulling down the hoodie.

I take my hand away from him. Uncertain, clasping them on the leather between my legs.

His chest hovers alarmingly near and the cigarette scent envelops me like a fucking blanket. His thighs press against mine.

He makes sure the bike is in neutral, he checks that the fuel is turned on.

Sets the kill switch to the run position and places his right foot firmly on the kick-start level.

Holds the front brake for stability. I swallow.

With determination, he slams the pedal down using his foot.

Slightly poised on his feet, the bike doesn’t start at his first kick, so he adjusts the throttle and tries again.

I swallow. Again. My whole body is moving at his commands.

As the engine starts, the quiet street is filled with its roar.

He tweaks the throttle to keep it running smoothly, letting it to idle for a minute, for the engine to warm up.

He settles, chest against my backbone. His tattooed hands grip the handlebars, anchoring me between them.

My eyes wander over the intricate designs painting his skin.

"What do they mean?"

His jaw grazes the arch of my neck, just above my shoulder.

"What do you think they mean?"

I angle my head, and the helmet is resting against his cheek.

"Well… the ‘I bite’ and bat tattoo is about being a vampire, right?

The other ones can mean anything… or nothing.

" I return to my initial position, looking at the empty street in front of me.

Hands weave through my hair, right under the helmet.

His fingers dance along the strands, untangling knots with a delicate caress.

He starts to split it into three equal sections. Is he braiding my hair?

"What are you doing?"

He switches back and forth between the right and left parts over the middle until he gets to the ends of my hair. When finished, he tugs the whole braid into the hoodie and I can feel it tickling my spine.

"I don’t want your hair flying into my mouth while we ride."

He slowly eases the clutch while twisting, sending power to the rear wheel, preventing stalling. With every effort, the veins on his hands protrude through the tattooed skin. They make me want to reach out and touch them with my fingertips. What? No!

The bike kicks off, and his body feels like a load on my spine as he leans in. My cheeks are burning. I sense I’ll need the Moon’s magic and my Cone’s strength to kill him. Why is my body burning? Because he is cute, ok? Now shut up.

"Eyes up." I see him checking out my legs while I get off his bike. The hoodie is over sized on me, but it won’t shield my long stockings as I lift my leg and he spots the lace.

"I like lace."

I take off the helmet and give it to him.

"I didn’t ask."

As I walk to the shop, I can sense his eyes on me, which puts a playful smile on my lips.

My hand flips the key in the lock and I turn my head to see if he is coming inside.

His strong scent hits my face. He stands so close that the coolness of his half-dead body mixes with the warmth of mine. He puts a cigarette between his lips.

"You know that it isn’t helpful, right?"

"It halts my craving." His voice issues from his mouth, in the breach between his lips and cigarette.

"Craving what?"

"You."

I twist my body, directing my gaze upward to him. A sly smirk dances on his lips, at the right corner.

"Fuck you!"

He lifts his hand just above my shoulder and retrieves the key from the door, nudging it open.

"I am wearing rose."

"I sensed that."

"And?"

He leans closer, drawing the cigarette from his mouth and wafting the smoke into my face. "And? Did you assume that laying wild roses on our resting places was going to stop us from rising as vampires again?"