Chapter 32
With a basket filled with plump rolls, I donned my red velvet cloak and headed out the door. Tyrone’s place was close enough to walk, but I took the hearse. For all its charm, the walkability score in rural Valentine was abysmal.
Tyrone’s house was a gorgeous log cabin nestled in a stand of trees, with a welcoming porch wrapped in twinkle lights and garlands. All of his farming equipment was parked out front: a snow mobile, a four-wheeler, and his St. Nicholas Farms pickup. He probably wore cute outfits to ride in each one.
Tyrone opened the door in a pair of sweatpants and a Transylvania County Fair T-shirt.
“Transylvania?” I read my homeland’s name on his T-shirt like it was a sign from God.
“Transylvania County, North Carolina,” he said, with an emphasis on North Carolina, which he drawled out more than usual.
“Are there vampires?” I stuttered a little.
He laughed like the idea was funny. “My hometown is all sugar and spice. Just like you, Tiff.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back and ushered me into his home.
Tyrone’s cabin was spacious and cozy all at once, an open concept design where the entryway moved right into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room only by an eating counter with barstools.
In the living room, a mounted moose head loomed over the mantel, all jowly and dour, dead on the wall for eternity because it had a nice rack.
A casual photo of a woman who looked like him sat by the TV.
“Is that your mom?” I asked, nodding toward the photo.
“Yeah. She thinks I’m crazy for living in Vermont. I was trying to get her to move up here, but it just ain’t her scene.”
“That’s too bad.” That’s when it struck me. “Where’s your Chrithmas tree?”
“Don’t tell anyone. I didn’t put one up,” he said sheepishly.
“Why? It would be so pretty in here.” And it would be. His cozy cabin would be even cozier. “Maybe you’re sick of trees?” I guessed.
“Not quite. I just don’t have anyone to decorate for.” He moved to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”
I shook my head and sidled up to him. “I brought you a gift. You seemed sad earlier.”
He leaned forward over the counter. “Tiffany, you shouldn’t be comforting me. It should be the other way around.”
“What makes you think I need comforting?” Nine years seemed more than sufficient to get over losing Jeff.
He let out a laugh that was almost a sob.
I lightly stroked his back, unsure of the emotional turmoil he was suffering from or the way to comfort him.
Tyrone was all over the place with this Jeff business.
Maybe he was in therapy, but Dr. R clearly had some more work to do here.
Obviously, Tyrone and I were meant to be.
With a sigh he leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on my neck. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
Living up to the compliment, I plated a roll and passed it to him.
“Aren’t you going to have one?” he asked.
“You don’t have a tree. I’m not going to have a roll. Both of us denied the fruits of our labor.”
With a nod he said, “I’m good at denying myself.”
“What else are you denying yourself?”
He gave me an up-and-down look that burned all the way to my toes. With a big bite, he finished off the cinnamon roll, licking frosting off his fingertips. His pink tongue sliding through the sugary fluff turned my thoughts naughty.
A coyote’s howl tore through the quiet. Here I was trying to be sugar and spice, and my scapegoat was making a scene in the yard. I willed the stupid animal to shut up, but another joined.
“You hear that?” He perked up, and I could feel his heart beat faster.
How could I not? It was a chaotic chorus of yips and howls. The only thing louder than the coyotes was his heartbeat.
Tyrone moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside to investigate the dark nothingness of the countryside.
“How about we put on a show and snuggle under a blanket?” I said, trying to distract him. All these men and their insistence on protecting me was getting annoying.
“We can’t ignore this, Tiff. A coyote attacked the inspector on your property. It’s not safe.”
“Just sit down.” I willed him to let it go.
“And it’s not just that. For the last couple of weeks, the farm animals have been spooked. You saw the way the horses were acting. I don’t mean to sound crazy, but it’s like there’s some kind of predator lurking around the neighborhood.”
He wasn’t wrong. “Just because something is scary doesn’t mean it’s dangerous,” I said. But I was dangerous. Tyrone’s blood called to me.
“What does the city want from you?” he asked.
“They think I have some kind of vicious animal in my house. If I don’t produce the animal, Valentine Animal Control will collect and dispose of it.” I drew my brows together. “What does that even mean? Do they think I have a coyote in the house?”
“You’re supposed to bring a dead varmint into town, Tiff. Either that, or they’ll come find one.”
His words sent a chill down my spine.
Another crazy yip cut through the night, calling my bluff. Come and get me, Tiffenie, you liar!
“I believe there is a dangerous animal around. You saw a coyote bite the inspector. And for the last week, one’s been in my yard acting crazy and scaring the shit out of my horses.” Tyrone scanned the dark woods outside. “It’s not safe. I have kids out here every day at that fair.”
“I don’t want to give them a body.” Outside, the stupid coyote wouldn’t shut up.
With a heavy sigh and a look of grim determination, Tyrone slipped on some boots and a heavy coat. “Tiffany, we don’t have a choice. If you want to save your house, and if I want to continue operating a Christmas fair for kids, we have to deal with the coyote.”
“I don’t kill. It’s a rule.” Don’t wear matte lipstick. Don’t kill.
“This isn’t a normal coyote, Tiff. It sent a full-grown man to the hospital.”
How was I supposed to tell him that I was the problem? He would never talk to me again if he knew. I held the truth in tight.
From the set of his jaw, it was obvious that Tyrone was determined to protect me like it was his job. Who did he think I was that I needed this? But could I turn away from a red flag? No, I flushed with excitement at his boldness. Red was my favorite color.
I put the velvet hooded cape back on and followed him out the door. There was no way he was going to actually find a coyote and shoot it in the dark.
“You don’t have to come.”
“No, I do.” This was for my benefit, and maybe I could distract him to save the coyote, if it came to that. My cloak gaped open in the wind.
“You might want something warmer. Does that have a zipper? Or arms?” He looked confounded, as most men do when confronted with anything out of the sartorial norm.
“The cold doesn’t bother me.”
When he slung a shotgun over his back and grabbed a couple of flashlights, I stopped, unsettled by the weapon. The protector schtick was sexy, but a cozy fire and true crime on the television called my name too.
Dead serious, he said, “We’re in a bind. Something has to be done. I owe it to Jeff to look out for you, and to my customers.”
“I can take care of myself, Ty, and why would you owe Jeff? Sounds like he owed you after taking your money and killing your saplings.”
“I just do.”
I left space for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
Whatever darkness he had inside him was boiling over at the mere recollection of our earlier conversation.
A little uncomfortable, I turned my gaze to the ground and watched as the snow crunched under our feet, our boots breaking through the crust that had formed from a few days of cold and wind.
It’s really unfortunate Dr. R couldn’t report on her other clients. I could use some guidance with this one.
“Careful of that branch,” he said, and held part of a tree back for me to walk past unscathed.
I was not a prize to be earned, but a deep-down part of me purred with satisfaction, thrilling to this primal display of manliness.
Here was a handsome, virile man, marching through the woods with a gun, intent on killing for me.
Treating me like a prize. Flowers were okay, the Christmas tree had been cozy, but this made me feel alive.
Was this how the real Tiffanys of the world felt all the time?
We walked wordlessly for what seemed like miles, Tyrone stepping through the snow with his shotgun strapped to his back like a hunter.
He had no idea who the real hunter was. As much as I thrilled at being sugar and spice, he was prey and I was the predator, or at least that’s what Vlad had always said.
You are designed to feed from humans. It is not your fault.
It is the cycle of life. Do you hate the lion for killing the gazelle?
“Do you want me to turn on the flashlight?” he asked, mistaking my internal struggle for blindness.
I was yo-yoing between two options: 1) settling into traditional womanhood with all its benefits, or 2) draining him.
Between the twisted branches of leafless maples and the pale moonlight reflecting off the snow, Valentine was an illustrated Grimms’ fairy tale tonight.
“The moon is enough light,” I said. He didn’t need any more help seeing my pupils dilated at the scent of his blood.
“Have you ever killed?” I asked Tyrone, swallowing loudly. I wanted him.
He didn’t answer.
“Let’s go back,” I suggested. I needed to calm my bloodlust for the good of us both.
An animal growled in the darkness. Tyrone was right. The scent of vampire had the local fauna worked up.
“Did you hear that?” Tyrone raised his gun.
“Must be the wind,” I said. Between my thirst and his excited state, everything was going hazy for me.
A dark shape ran across the trail. If it was a coyote, it was a big one. I made a move to catch up to Tyrone to stop him, lurching through a deep patch of snow. He raised his gun.
“Tyrone, it’s not the coyote’s fault.” I threw myself toward him with telenovela-level drama but tripped on a tree root. “Don’t shoot!” I yelled. “It wasn’t—” I started to protest, but he cut me off.
“Someone has to do it,” he said, like this was just another task, because to him, it was.
Tyrone ka-chunked his shotgun and trained it on the running form. When the unsuspecting creature stopped on a hillside and stared, Tyrone pulled the trigger.
“No!” I uttered the protest too late.
Tyrone turned and took my hand. Earnestly, he said, “I’ve got to look out for you, Tiffany.”
He ran through the snow toward the fallen animal. To my horror, he had hit it. “Tyrone, no! The poor creature.” It was Tyrone’s blood I lusted for, not that of an innocent coyote I had blamed for Heaven’s crime.
“It’s you or the coyote, Tiffany. Someone had to protect you and the neighborhood.”
I could see that he thought he’d done the right thing.
My thoughts and emotions were a swirling vortex, pushing me deeper into the darkness.
The animal took its last ragged breaths and the snow crunched under Tyrone’s weight as he knelt over its body.
Why did he think he had a right to kill in my name?
I’d never asked for that. All my warring emotions pushed me under.
In the darkness, my thoughts floated away, leaving me with nothing but thirst.
The animal’s blood was spilling onto the snow, bright red on pristine white.
From the running and the adrenaline of the kill, Tyrone’s blood was pumping.
As he hunched over the body of the poor creature, I couldn’t look away from the blood pulsing in Tyrone’s neck.
His heart might have been saying “Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom,” but my vision was tunneling, his coursing blood clouding my senses. I heard, “Bite me. Bite me. Bite me.”
I made way to Tyrone and crouched next to him, closing my eyes, too parched to think of anything but quenching my thirst. Poised over his neck, the scent of sawdust and evergreen mixed with the blood. Red blood, white snow, evergreens all around. A Christmas killing in Christmas colors.
He turned to me, solemn but satisfied. “I know you didn’t want to kill anything, but it’ll get Wayne off your back. You can keep the house.”
I leaned in close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. His breath came out in soft puffs in the cold winter air. Saliva pooled in my mouth as the sound of his blood pulsed louder in my ears. I wanted to drink from Tyrone.
“Nooooo!” I cried out. I couldn’t bite Tyrone.
He looked at me. “It’s okay, Tiff. It had to die for you to live. You have to produce a body or Wayne’s not gonna let it go. Do you want your house? Your new life in Valentine?”
He didn’t say Me? but the idea hung in the air between us.
I wanted all of that, but I wanted a drink. So badly.
My senses warring between desperate thirst and desperation to be someone else—a normal girl with a pulse who didn’t kill the guy she liked—rose to a fever pitch.
I dropped to my knees in the snow, breaths that I didn’t even need to take coming faster and faster.
My vision tunneled to nothing but Tyrone hunched over the poor coyote before going black.