Falling for Fangs

The game was winding to an end. Most of the players had run out of chips and were drinking Maxwell’s best whiskey and chatting animatedly around the fire. Only Maxwell, Sean, and Tamara were left at the table.

It was time for the small blind, but before Maxwell could slide a chip forward, Tamara turned to him, a serene smile on her face.

“You had better go to the door, Maxwell Davidson.”

“Why?” Maxwell looked confused.

“Because Chloe Bloom is approaching,” she said, her voice low for the benefit of the human guests.

“You can tell?” There was something deeply disconcerting about fae, Maxwell thought.

“Of course,” she said. “You’ll catch her scent soon, I think. Though she carries your scent now too, I think.” She raised her elegant eyebrows, toying with one of her long braids.

Maxwell coughed. “Well, if you’ll excuse me—” he said, pushing up from the table. “I fold,” he declared.

“Just you and me now,” Sean said, looking at Tamara with a grimace. “I think I’m in trouble.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Excusing himself, Maxwell left the library just as the doorbell rang.

Opening the door, he found Chloe. Just as Tamara had said.

“Hi,” she said, smiling and pushing her way inside. “God, it’s cold.”

“But no snow,” Maxwell said, leaning down to kiss her. She tasted perfect, even with icy lips and shivering violently. “Come in and get warm by the fire; we’re nearly finished, anyway.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to interrupt,” Chloe said. “I just wanted to come and see you at the end of the game.”

“You’re an extremely welcome interruption,” Maxwell assured her. “Really, it’s almost over, and I want an excuse to kick everyone out before they drink all my booze.”

“They’re not eating my duck-fat crisps, are they?” Chloe pretended to be outraged, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’ll buy more,” Maxwell assured her. “I thought you were too busy catching up with work to come.”

“I couldn’t come for the whole night,” Chloe explained. “But I wanted to see you. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Maxwell said with a grin. “How could you resist me?”

“Apparently, I can’t,” Chloe said, giving him a smile that seemed to warm him down to his toes in their neat leather brogues. “I have something for you, by the way.”

“Oh?” Maxwell was surprised. “What is it?”

“This,” Chloe said, and she handed him a little package of blue tissue paper.

Curiously, Maxwell unwrapped it to find—

“A pocket square,” he said, running his fingers over the silk. “Chloe, this is so lovely. I like the print.” The print was of interlocking pocket watches, not dissimilar to the one he had given up to the cauldron.

“I’ve had the fabric for ages,” Chloe told him. “And I never knew what to do with it. But when you had to give up your brother’s watch, I thought—”

“Wait, you made this?” Maxwell raised his eyebrows, examining the very neat rolled hem. “It’s exquisite.”

“It’s just a square,” Chloe said modestly. “Anyone can make a pocket square; it’s not hard.”

“But it’s so thoughtful,” Maxwell said. “And kind of you. Besides, not everyone can do hems like that. I’ve bought enough suits with very disappointing finishes to know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t wear it,” Chloe said. “I mean, it might not be really your taste. I just wanted you to have it, anyway. To remind you of your brother.”

“I love it,” Maxwell said, and he folded it neatly into the pocket of his white linen shirt so that the ends poked up jauntily. “How does it look?”

“Oh, you definitely pull it off,” she said, leaning up to kiss him.

Maxwell felt like he was being filled up with warm molasses, or maybe whiskey. It was definitely an intoxicating, drowning, delicious feeling. She had made that pocket square for him. Used her time – which he knew was so precious – to make something just for him. Something to remind him of his brother.

“I really am grateful, Chloe,” he said, taking both of her hands in his. “You’re…you’re amazing.” Even the word ‘amazing’ didn’t seem sufficient to describe the woman before him.

“You can thank me later,” she said, her lips warm on his neck. “When you’ve gotten rid of your guests.”

Maxwell let out a groan as desire rushed through him, hot and heady. “Screw it, I’ll set off the fire alarm.”

“We’ve got to be polite,” Chloe told him. “I’ll come and say hello, and maybe they’ll get the message.”

“We can engage in such disgusting public displays of affection that everyone leaves right away,” Maxwell slipped his hand under her thick knitted sweater to the warm bare skin beneath.

Chloe let out a little moan of want. “I really like that idea.”