Free Real Vampires Don't Sparkle by Amy Fecteau Page A

nature,” he said, climbing out of the van. “Bugs and dirt and things with teeth.”
    “You’re a thing with teeth,” Quin said absently.
    “So if we get attacked by a mountain lion, I’ll ask it to wait nicely while I find its jugular.”
    “You do that.”
    “You’re not paying attention to me.”
    “Sorry, Sunshine, but I have more important things to worry about than your whining. And stop pouting. Anyone would think you were the gay one.”
    “I’m not pouting,” Matheus muttered. He dug the toe of his shoe into the ground, jumping back as the residents of the anthill he disturbed launched a frontal attack on his sneaker. He tried to dislodge the ant commander without actually touching using his hands.
    “Come on,” Quin said, grabbing Matheus’ wrist. “We have to find a place to spend the day.” He dove into the trees, Matheus whipping back and forth behind him.
    Branches loomed up uncomfortably fast, pine needles slapping against Matheus’ face. Black mud soaked into Matheus’ shoes, squishing up through his socks. The ground sloped downward as they ran. He heard running water in the distance.
    Quin dodged around trees, ducked under low branches, jumped over logs. He dragged Matheus after him like a child’s pull-toy, pausing only to fish Matheus out of fir trees.
    Spitting out evergreen needles, Matheus fantasied about Quin landing face-first into a copperhead’s nest. He tried to shake his arm free, but Quin’s grip tightened until the bones in Matheus’ wrist creaked with the strain. After the fourth time Matheus slipped, he remained on the muddy ground, forcing Quin to stop and glower down at him.
    “I’m sorry,” Matheus said, spitting out a mouthful of leaves. “Just leave me here.” He sighed, flapping his hands in an effort to keep the ever-present ferns out of his face. “Maybe a bobcat can eat me or something.”
    “Moron.” Quin yanked him upright. He looked at Matheus for a moment, taking in the streaks of mud, the leaves plastered to the back of Matheus’ head. Fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket, he passed it to Matheus.
    Matheus held square of silk between two fingers, lips pursed before arching an eyebrow at Quin.
    With a noise like Matheus’ old nanny, Quin snatched the handkerchief back, using it to wipe the globs of mud off Matheus’ face. He had the gentleness of Matheus’ old nanny as well, which was to say, not much.
    Matheus batted him away, trying to grab the handkerchief at the same time, but he misjudged the distance, ruining Quin’s work with a face-plant into a patch of damp moss.
    Quin let out a strangled noise. He stood over Matheus, one hand held over his face, his shoulders shaking. After a second, a burst of laughter escaped, frightening some birds into flight.
    “Bastard,” Matheus said.
    Quin laughed more, reaching down with his free hand to help Matheus up.
    “Try and stay on your feet, yeah?” he said. “Come on.”
    “Quin, wait.” Matheus held up a finger, silencing Quin’s question. He pointed to their right. “Do you hear that? Over there.”
    Something travelled through the woods, slow and deliberate. At the occasional twig snap, all sounds would cease, then resume a few seconds later. Matheus didn’t think the sounds came from an animal. He stared hard through the trees, wishing his new night vision included a zoom function.
    “Can you fight?” Quin asked, his voice low. “Never mind, stupid question. Can you climb?”
    “What?” The noises moved closer and divided.
    “Up that tree. Now.”
    “I want to help.”
    Matheus wondered who had said that. Not him, because he would never have let something so monumentally stupid leave his lips. He’d always been a fan of the run and hide method of conflict management.
    “Help by getting up that damn tree,” Quin replied with a shove.
    Matheus fell, hitting his cheek on a rock. He looked at it for a moment, an idea forming in his head.
    “Hurry up,” said Quin.
    “I’m