Flossed In Love (Fanged and Flirty #1)

Chapter 1

Florence | Edinburgh, present day

The blood-curdling scream is so loud it makes my molars tingle. I’ve been slouching in a plastic bucket chair, but my spine straightens at the noise, half expecting the receptionist to sprint down the corridor and exclaim, ‘What the hell was that?’

As to what’s taking place behind the door, I have no ready answer. Murder most foul? I’ve heard a lot of screams in my life, and that one sounded particularly painful.

When no one comes running, I figure the receptionist mustn’t be bothered, or she’s gone home. Either way, I’m trapped out here listening to whatever’s going on in there. Another ragged screech makes me almost jump out of my skin. It trails off into a bubbling gurgle.

Jesus!

I’m starting to think my clever idea of booking the last appointment of the day to get my teeth checked wasn’t so clever after all. Maybe I should ...

I rise from the chair with the intention of legging it, but the exam room door swings open. A man stumbles out, clutching his unshaven cheek, surrounded by a miasma of stale alcohol. ‘Good luck, you’ll need it,’ he mutters and staggers off down the corridor.

‘Florence Hughes? I’m ready for you now,’ a gravelly male voice intones from inside the room.

That’s odd. I’ve been coming to this private dental practice for years.

My dentist, Dr Heather Malcolm, is a lovely middle-aged woman with a gentle touch whom I like chatting to.

Unless she’s had a voice transplant, this isn’t her.

Has she taken on a colleague? If so, he sounds like he might be a sadist!

As I’m standing there, deliberating, a tall guy with broad shoulders appears in the doorway, he’s wearing a white coat and a blue surgical mask.

His short hair is coffee-coloured with several streaks of vivid purple.

An edgy young dentist, that’s a first. Though it was Halloween last week, so perhaps he went to a party . ..

‘Are you Florence Hughes?’ the guy enquires, his voice muffled by the mask.

I nod, but my eyes zero in on his white coat. There’s a smear of blood on one lapel, and I can smell it. It’s been several days since I’ve had a drink, and the tantalising tangy scent teases my nose, making it difficult to concentrate.

‘Yes ... yes, I am,’ I manage to get out.

‘Please come in. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’ He steps aside, and I enter the room, pinching my nostrils shut with two fingers as I pass by so I don’t smell the blood. I’ve worked hard over the years to master my self-control, but still ...

He gestures to the dentist chair and says, ‘Take a seat. I’ll be with you in just a minute.

’ His accent isn’t Scottish; it’s got a distinctly English clipped-vowel ring to it.

My curiosity is piqued. I’m a sucker for a well-spoken Englishman.

Don’t get me wrong—guys with Scottish accents are hot too, but only if you can understand them.

Dutifully, I hop up onto the blue vinyl chair and stretch out my legs, wondering what he was doing to his previous patient to make him scream like that.

There’s no evidence of a struggle, and the small sink next to me is clean, though I can detect remnants of blood-infused spittle.

My gums start prickling, and I press my lips together tightly, willing my fangs not to extend.

Dammit, I should have had a mouthful at least before I came out.

But our blood supply is running low, so I was being altruistic.

What’s this sadist dentist doing? He’s taking ages. Impatiently, I swivel my head and see him checking my previous X-rays on his computer—closely.

I whip back around as he rolls up next to me in his chair. He clips a paper towel around my neck.

‘So I’ll just do a routine check-up today. Your X-rays are good until your next visit—’

I interrupt his dentist spiel. ‘Where’s Dr Malcolm? I usually see her.’

His eyebrows lift slightly. ‘Dr Malcolm retired six months ago, I’m afraid.’

‘Retired?’ I repeat, a bit shocked and disappointed as I really did like her; she never asked awkward questions, and she reminded me of my Aunt Ivy. But she must’ve been older than she looked. Come to think of it, she did mention something about retiring last time I saw her ...

‘I’m Dr Damian Rhodes. Hopefully, I’m a suitable replacement?

’ The corners of his greeny-hazel eyes crinkle as if he’s smiling underneath his mask, and I sense that he’s trying to put me at ease.

They probably have an entire semester dedicated to chairside manner at dental school—and how to deal with people screaming blue murder. He doesn’t seem too rattled about that.

‘I’m fine with it, but I’m not sure your previous patient was,’ I say, attempting a joke.

‘Ah, yes, sorry you had to hear that. He needed a tooth pulled and didn’t want anaesthetic. He insisted that he’d taken enough whisky to numb the pain. Newsflash: he hadn’t. Things got a bit ... messy.’

‘So I see,’ I say, staring pointedly at his bloody lapel.

His eyes follow the direction of my gaze. ‘Damn, sorry. Normally, my assistant would be here to point out things like that, but she’s off sick today. I think I have a spare coat. I’ll change ...’

He starts to get up, and I sigh inwardly. ‘It’s fine. Honestly, I just want to get this over with ... I mean, it’s not a problem.’

‘OK, if you don’t mind. Thanks.’ Dr Rhodes lowers the chair until I’m flat on my back and at his mercy. He yanks his tray of dental implements closer with a rattle and selects one. ‘Not a fan of going to the dentist, Florence?’ he asks conversationally. ‘Open wide for me.’

I grunt in reply and open my mouth as wide as I can.

Dr Rhodes pokes around my gumline methodically with a pointy-ended instrument, inserting it between my teeth.

He does some further checks with another instrument.

Finishing those, he presses around my jaw and rubs a gloved finger up under my gums, and my stomach muscles tense—he’s worryingly thorough.

His index finger brushes against my eye teeth, and I stiffen. My fangs only fully extend when summoned by bloodlust, and they don’t show on my X-rays so I should be OK. But the dentist feels the pointy tips and says, ‘These are a bit sharp. I could file them for you if it’s an issue?’

I shake my head and he doesn’t comment further. I relax after that, relieved that he hasn’t noticed anything too out of the ordinary about me.

‘Well, I’m happy to say your teeth are pristine, Florence,’ he remarks, sounding bemused. ‘You don’t have any fillings, and there isn’t even any tartar to scrape off. What’s your secret?’

He moves slightly and I get another whiff of the blood on his lapel.

‘I don’t eat sugar,’ I say tightly, my nostrils flaring. God, I’m going to suck that blood bag dry when I get home. Altruism be damned.

‘Do you floss regularly?’

I nod. ‘Yes.’ It’s true, I do because sometimes blood clots catch in my teeth. It’s one of the drawbacks of drinking under-the-table transfusions. But probably best not to mention that ...

‘What about TePe brushes?’

I shake my head.

Then ensues a rather long lecture about the benefits of using TePe dental brushes, and he thrusts several different-sized ones between my teeth. I’m given a couple of blue TePe brushes and a tiny tube of toothpaste in a small baggie. Woo-hoo, free dental merch. Bonus.

If my flatmates, Sadie and Hester, could hear this conversation, they’d laugh their heads off.

Luckily, I’m out of range, so neither of them can.

I know what Sadie would say too as she doesn’t have a filter: ‘You weirdo, why are you bothering when you don’t actually need to go to the dentist?

’ Perhaps it is a bit strange; after all, I never have to worry about tooth decay even if I don’t brush.

But is it so wrong to want to feel like I’m part of society every once in a while?

And since Dr Malcolm’s replacement is a young (possibly handsome) dentist, at least I’m good in the sexual fantasy department for the next year.

Men in masks have a certain je ne sais quoi, and I have a vivid imagination.

The chair is slowly uprighted to its original position, and Dr Rhodes tells me he’s finished.

I sit there, unmoving, as a deep well of disappointment opens up inside me.

So soon? Can we not chat some more about TePe brushes?

Maybe I should say I’m thinking of becoming a dental hygienist, and does he have any career advice?

But I don’t want him to think I’m a lonely saddo.

‘Great, thank you,’ I say brightly, self-preservation overriding my need for human connection, as it always does.

Dr Rhodes switches off the light above my head and idly removes his surgical mask. I sit there for a moment as the sight of him sinks in. He’s ridiculously hot for a human; as well as those lovely greeny-hazel eyes, he has a straight nose and a strong jaw.

He smiles at me in a professional manner and his teeth are, of course, outstanding.

A playful dimple appears in his left cheek and my stomach flips.

It’s the cherry on top of a gorgeous man sundae.

Peeling off his gloves with a snap, he drops them on the tray, and rolls back towards the computer in his chair.

‘You’re all good to go, Florence. See you next year.

Just book an appointment at reception .. .’

Dr Rhodes goes through his wrap-up spiel, yadda yadda yadda, but I hardly hear a word he’s saying because bloodlust is strumming through my veins. I want to see him again and I don’t want to have to wait until next year. Maybe a little vampiric encouragement is all he needs to ask me out?