Page 88 of Fang Fatale

Instead, it becomes an increasingly ridiculous contest over who gets to carry what.

She shoulders the duffel.

I take it from her.

She immediately reaches for it again.

"I can carry my own bag."

"I know."

"Then why are you carrying it?"

"Because I got to it first."

She folds her arms.

"That's not how ownership works."

"It's how vampires do it."

She studies me for a long moment before shaking her head with an exasperated laugh.

"I can't decide if you're charming or infuriating."

"I'm hoping for a healthy balance of both."

"You should probably keep hoping."

Despite the words, she's smiling again.

I sling the duffel over my shoulder before she can make another grab for it, and she lets me.

Not because she's giving up.

Because she's letting me.

The distinction matters more than it probably should.

“So,” she asks, “what’s next?”

I hadn’t thought that far. I mean, I have plans—multiple, cross-referenced, and strategic—but I’d assumed, with my usual cocktail of narcissism and bravado, that I would just improvise the next steps. Birds (the feathered kind) chirp outside, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think the world had righted itself overnight. For all outward appearances we’re just two people preparing for a long drive, getaway destination unknown. I could almost believe it, if not for the tingle under my jaw and the ache in my (still healing) shoulder.

The strange part is that I’m not thinking about where we’re going.

I’m thinking about how long I can convince her to stay.

I want to say, “We run,” or “We hide,” or “We burn the world to the ground and start over,” but what I actually say is, “We don’t have to go anywhere right away. If you want to stay, we can stay. For once, no one’s chasing us.”

Birdie’s face does something complicated—I can practically see the gears turning behind her eyes.

“If we don’t run, aren’t we just waiting for them to find us?”

There’s no panic in her voice.

Just exhaustion.

“I’m pretty hard to kill,” I remind her, with a shrug. “I’m more concerned for you. Things might get ugly.”