The dentist's office wasn't in Whitefish. It was in a private suite above a med spa in Kalispell that didn't have a sign on the door.
Dr. Arman greeted Brett at the elevator in a tailored grey suit, not a white coat. He had the kind of calm, expensive hands that made you trust him instantly.
"Brielle," he said, smiling with his own perfect teeth. "Lance sent your scans. We're ready."
Brett sat in the black leather chair, his heart hammering against his ribs under the black cashmere sweater he wore over his corset. He was twenty-one, one hundred and thirty-nine pounds, his long honey blonde hair in a sleek ponytail, his big blue eyes lined soft and smoky, his full lips bare because Dr. Arman had told him no lipstick.
He was nervous. He'd always had nice teeth, straight enough from a year of braces in high school his mom could barely afford. But nice wasn't enough for what he was becoming.
"I want them white," he told Dr. Arman, his soft girl voice trembling just a little. "Like, all teeth, all white, perfection. And..."
He hesitated, then looked up through his lashes the way Matteo taught him.
"I want my canines a little longer. A little sharper. Not vampire, just... dangerous. Sexy. Like I could bite."
Dr. Arman smiled slowly. "A toothy, sexy, dangerous smile. I understand perfectly."
They numbed his gums. Brett stared at the ceiling while they filed his natural teeth down to tiny pegs, the sound vibrating through his skull. He didn't feel pain, just pressure, and a strange, emotional grief for the boy's smile he was losing.
He thought about his mother saying he had his father's crooked grin. He thought about Lance never having seen him smile like a girl.
He cried silently, tears slipping down his temples into his hair, and Dr. Arman patted his hand without comment. Hormones made him weepy at everything now.
Then they fitted the temporaries. Dr. Arman held up a mirror.
Brett gasped.
Even the temporaries were blinding white, perfectly shaped, perfectly straight. And the canines, his k9s, were just a millimeter longer than the others, just a touch more pointed. When he closed his lips, you couldn't tell. When he smiled...
He smiled experimentally and saw a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful, slightly feral stranger with a dangerous edge.
"Oh my god," he whispered, and his new teeth clicked softly.
Two hours later they bonded the permanents. Porcelain veneers, custom shaded to a Hollywood white that still looked real against his golden tan. Each tooth perfect. Each edge sharp. The canines longer than needed, just enough to catch his full lower lip when he smiled wide.
Dr. Arman handed him the mirror for the final reveal.
Brett took it with shaking, pink-nailed hands.
He looked at himself, really looked, and his big blue eyes filled instantly.
He was wearing a black sweater, black leggings, no makeup except mascara, his hair in a ponytail, and yet he looked like a different species of human. The smile transformed his entire face. His smaller than average nose looked cuter. His cheekbones looked higher. His full lips looked plumper framing all that white perfection.
He smiled slowly, letting his lips part, letting the slightly sharpened canines show.
He looked sexy. He looked expensive. He looked a little bit dangerous, like a girl who would kiss you and then ruin your life and you'd thank her for it.
A sob broke out of his chest, loud and ugly and happy.
"They're perfect," he cried, his new teeth flashing. "They're so perfect."
He couldn't stop smiling in the car home. He smiled at stoplights and watched his reflection in the rearview mirror. He smiled with his lips closed, then open, then wide, practicing the way the light caught the points of his canines.
At the Cocoon, he walked in and Elena dropped the bowl she was holding. It didn't break on the heated floors.
"Brielle," she breathed.
Julian came running, took one look, and screamed. "OH MY GOD. SMILE AGAIN."
Brett did, big and toothy and white, and Julian actually fanned himself.
"That is a man-eater smile," Julian declared. "That is a 'I will steal your boyfriend and your bank account' smile."
Brett laughed, and the sound was bright and musical and showed all his perfect teeth.
He ran upstairs and changed into his uniform, black corset, black stockings, garter belt, 120 mm Louboutins. He did full glam makeup, smoky eyes, contoured cheeks, and painted his full lips a deep blood red that made his white veneers glow like pearls.
He stood in front of the three-way mirror in his bedroom, in his heels, in his lingerie, his long blonde hair down his back, his golden skin glowing, his tiny waist cinched, his C cup breasts high and round, his hips flared, and he smiled at himself.
Slowly. Dangerously. Letting the sharpened canines catch the red of his lip.
The girl in the mirror smiled back, toothy and sexy and lethal.
"Hello, gorgeous," he whispered to her, and his new teeth clicked softly on the words.
His phone buzzed at 9 pm.
Lance: How was the dentist?
Brett was lying on his bed on his stomach, kicking his heels in the air like a teenage girl, his chin in his hands, smiling at nothing.
He sent a voice note, letting Lance hear the smile in his voice.
"It was perfect," he purred, and he could hear the slight lisp his new longer canines gave him, the way they caught his words. "I have a whole new smile, Lance. All white. All perfect. And my k9s are just a little bit sharp."
He paused, then added, softer, more dangerous, "You'll see them when you get home. If you're lucky, maybe I'll bite."
He hit send, rolled onto his back, and stared at the ceiling, running his tongue over his perfect, sharp, white teeth again and again, feeling powerful and predatory and completely, utterly feminine.
The power of being a sexy woman wasn't just in the hips or the hair or the heels.
It was in the smile. And his could kill...