Page 25 of Fangs for the Memories (Budapest Bites #1)

I take Ferenc on a magical mystery tour of all the thrift shops I wanted to visit, but both my money and my feet gave out on the first attempt.

The look on his face, standing in the center of a store filled with secondhand goods in his bespoke suit, the price of which would probably mean he could buy the entire stock and some, is priceless.

But as much as this is fun, by the last shop, it’s hardly as if I’ve been able to replace much, if any, of what I’ve lost. Including underwear. Especially underwear.

“Where next?” Ferenc says, and I’m impressed at how he manages not to sound weary at all.

“I need…some ladies things, stuff like makeup. Is there a department store or something?” I ask.

It’s a long shot. I don’t imagine Ferenc goes shopping much. What he wears is the sort of clothing you get measured for in your own home.

“I know where we can go.” Ferenc flashes me his fanged smile and then speaks in rapid Hungarian to his driver.

The car pulls away from the curb and into traffic, which has remained constant despite the overnight snowfall. The temperature has remained low, and the darkening clouds above us suggest we’re in for some more very soon.

It doesn’t take long before we’re gliding to a halt in front of a brightly lit store which runs for almost a block. The windows are filled with skinny mannequins wearing brand new designer items.

Items I already know will be hugely overpriced. It doesn’t matter that I’m not paying—this sort of place is not my sort of place.

Ferenc gets out and comes around to my side, opening the door for me. I step out, and he swiftly ushers me past the uniformed security guard and doorman, into the over lit warmth of the store.

“Whatever you need,” he says.

I look around at the various perfume and cosmetic stands. It’s all stuff I’ve coveted but never been able to afford, unless I had a gift card.

I look at Ferenc.

He’s managing to look imperious and smug at the same time, like this was always his plan. I think he thinks I don’t know how to spend money.

Perhaps it’s time he found out how wrong he is. Because when it comes to shopping, I doubt there’s anyone in the Western Hemisphere better at it than me. I might choose secondhand and thrift shops, but it doesn’t mean I’m intimidated by this sort of place.

“Fine,” I say, stretching out my hands in front of me, my fingers interlinked.

I make a circuit of the cosmetics area, with my great dark shadow in attendance, thoroughly terrifying each and every one of the servers. When I come to make my choices, they can’t help but fall over themselves to be helpful.

I’m embarrassed to say they all speak good English, compared to my extremely rudimentary Hungarian. I resolve to try a little harder, given the genuine smiles I get when I thank them in their own language.

I also doubt I’ve made a dent in Ferenc’s wallet.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks.

I stare him dead in the eye. “Underwear.”

“Underwear?” I think he’s wondering if he can believe his luck.

“Underwear. But not frilly lacy things like all men think we want to wear. I want nice big granny pants,” I respond.

Next to me, the assistant snorts and covers her mouth with her hand, averting her eyes from Ferenc who bristles.

“Upstairs, third floor,” she says before hurrying away.

I watch a muscle jump in Ferenc’s jaw. He’s genuinely not used to any of this, and it has to be the highlight so far of nearly being killed by vampires and ending up beholden to a mafia werewolf boss.

Without a word, I walk over to the elevator and press the call button. Ferenc, as always, follows me.

“You do realize you’re not going to get to see the underwear, don’t you?” I say as we wait.

Ferenc says nothing as the doors open and we step in, the sole occupants, almost as if he’s planned this.

The doors close, and I find myself caged against the mirror on the far wall. Ferenc presses his body against mine, one huge hand splayed on the reflective surface above me, his other hand on my hip.

“Grace.” He half growls, half rasps my name, his fangs stopping the word from escaping.

“Ferenc,” I respond, my core heating in a way I know it absolutely should not be.

“You push me to the edge, kedves,” he rasps. “It won’t take much to tip me over.”

His delicious accent rolls over me like fog, his citrus scent filling my nostrils. Try as I might, I couldn’t find his cologne anywhere in his bedroom, so how he smells like this, I don’t know.

Unable to help myself, I release a short pant of breath. It’s hot in this confined space, especially in Ferenc’s big coat and with a huge werewolf radiating heat.

Although some of the heat is coming from me. In fact, quite a lot of the heat is coming from me. Ferenc’s handsome face is so damn close to mine. I can’t forget the kiss we shared last night. It haunted my dreams. It was far more incredible than any kiss has a right to be.

His lips hit mine, just as the elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I take the opportunity to duck under his arm and make my escape.

I want so much to say yes to this attraction between us, but my heart has a shield I can’t break through.

I have to go home sometime, and I can be sure Ferenc won’t come with me. Further, I know my fragile emotions can’t take a fling right now.

It has to be all or nothing. It can’t be all.

It has to be nothing.

The third floor is women’s clothing. Beautiful designer pieces and, to my delight, what looks to be a fully stocked lingerie department.

Perhaps I can tip him over that edge after all. I’d certainly like to see what Mr. Suave Werewolf does when he loses control.