Page 63 of The Silver Fox Vampire

It clawed at his heart, this feeling. Of course it wasn’t love, nothing close to that. He was, however, able to admit, in a state of openness that the whiskey had brought on, that he was badly infatuated with the woman.

Go man, get out of here.

He sighed, turned to leave, then noticed a shadow next to the trash cans outside her apartment building.

His vision arrow sharp now, he watched.

The shadow moved. Oliver blinked, refocused. Why couldn’t he see it for what it was? It was ephemeral, a shadow creature. Was it an elemental of some sort? No, too large for that. The bulky shadow slunk around the trash can. A cat meowed and shot out from behind one, all the fur on its back raised.

The cat didn’t like that shadow. And neither the fuck did he.

Stealthily, Oliver moved closer, skimmed across the road. He was about to duck down behind a bush when something grabbed him in a choke hold.

His eyes felt like they were being forced out of his skull, His vision blurred. His airways were beginning to close over, such was the strength of the creature’s grip on his throat.

Oliver used a quick karate move to slice behind him, then grabbed at some part of the creature’s anatomy. Whatever he’d grabbed, the shadow didn’t like it. Letting out a wheezing sound, it loosened its grip enough for Oliver to swing around and belt the thing with a curled fist.

For a moment, he was free. Self-preservation told him to run, but no way could he leave this thing lurking outside Clare’s apartment.

Suddenly it was on him again, clawing at his face. Pain seared through him.

He tried to use his arms to punch, his legs to kick, but it had him in a vise. Its breath was foul, making him gag, a stench like rotting fish skins and sump oil.

Shit. Was it a grimaald? It sure smelled like one. One way to know for sure. Grimaalds were allergic to vampire spittle and the small amount of venom it contained.

He spat at it and his saliva sizzled like acid on the shadowy form. It let out a whelp of pain and loosened its grasp enough that Oliver could free his arm and shove his fist into some part of its midriff. He registered slimy, cold scales. Grimaald for sure. But then it came back, twisting his arm so hard he let out a loud expletive, then swiped at his cheek with a claw. Sharp pain registered, then came a punch to his left eye, and he was twisted around and thrown face down on the ground.

A dead weight landed on his back, squeezing the air from his lungs. His arms were yanked behind him in a deadly grip, and a fist grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. He knew what was coming, his fucking face was about to be slammed into the pavers. He braced for impact.

But instead, there was a shout, a beam of light and then the beast’s weight on him was gone, leaving him winded and gasping for air.

“Are you okay!?”

Ah, that voice, like the sweet sound of an angel floating down to him.

“Sir! Is that you?”

A torch beam bobbed around his head.

He must have briefly lost consciousness, because the next thing he knew, a warm hand was on his arm, turning him over. He shifted onto his back, groaning from the sharp pain in his jaw and around his eye.

“Oh gods, almighty, what happened to you?”

Oliver winced at the warm liquid running into his eye, guessing it could only be his own blood. He squinted up into his savior’s beautiful face.

Yep, he decided, he’d died and gone to heaven.

Which, for a vampire, was a fucking miracle.

CHAPTER 19

Clare stared, horrified, into her boss’s beaten-up face.

He blinked up at her, and… smiled.

“If it isn’t Doyle, come to save my ass.” He winced as blood trickled into his mouth, reaching up to wipe it away. “I think I may be bleeding a touch.” He grimaced at the fingers he held up.

“You’re pretty messed up. You need to come inside, and let me tend to your wounds.”