by Tamara Hogan
When Mila turned away from the window, she’d blinked away the wetness. “Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting the cloth Sasha offered. She gestured to the little white paper balls clinging to her jacket. “The napkins gave me dingleberries.”
Sasha laughed, but she eyed him with more than a hint of suspicion. “Well, we wouldn’t want dingleberries on such a beautiful vintage jacket.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
As Mila and Sasha talked about the jacket—made in Paris by someone named Madame Grès—he took a quick glance at his cell phone and smothered a yawn. He’d spent too much time playing with the genealogy database last night, and his sleep had definitely suffered.
“We’re boring him to bits,” Sasha said to Mila, then looked at him. “I apologize for my rudeness, just barging over here and chattering away without introducing myself first.” She extended her hand, sending a bundle of bracelets jangling. “Sasha Sebastiani.”
He rose to his feet and shook it. “Dominic Reese. Nice to meet you.”
He had to give her credit for humility; everyone in their world knew who Sasha Sebastiani was. The daughter of Council President Elliott Sebastiani, sister of Council members Lukas and Antonia, she managed the Sebastiani family’s entertainment holdings, including Underbelly and Crack House Coffee. Even dressed like all the other workers, in jeans, a black T-shirt, and black apron, she was the one you noticed. She positively crackled with charisma. Her short black and fuchsia hair stood on end, as if her tiny body couldn’t contain her energy.
Sasha gestured to their cups. “Let me get you some refills.”
“Thanks, but none for me,” Mila said, rising to her feet. “I think Dominic could use one to go.”
Apparently their date was over. Hell, if he was Mila, he’d cut the evening short, too.
Sasha glanced at his cup. “Tall black Crack?” He nodded. “Be back in a minute.”
They both watched Sasha as she made her way back to the counter, checking in on tables along the way. The deadly silence grew. “I’m sorry this was such a disaster,” he blurted.
She smiled enigmatically. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s my fault you spilled on your jacket. Please let me get it cleaned for you.”
“No need.”
Silence made panic churn in his stomach. She didn’t want to see him again, and he couldn’t blame her—
“Would you like to go to Underbelly with me sometime? Some night when we’re both free?”
Surprise rocked him back on his heels. “Um, I’d love to. But…why?”
“Hmm?”
“Over half a cup of coffee, I’ve started a political argument, made you cry, and ruined a vintage jacket.” Her tiny grin of acknowledgment enchanted him. “Why would you subject yourself to this again?”
“You’re nice to look at, and I found our discussion…interesting.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Do you only have conversations with people who agree with you?”
“No, but…” Taking a chance, he took her hands in his. Even after holding a hot coffee mug, they were as chilly as refrigerator air. “What did I say that made you cry?”
There was that sadness again. “Why don’t we save that for another time?”
Before he could press, Sasha came back with a tall to-go cup. He pulled out his wallet, but she waved him off. “It’s on the house tonight.”
“It’s not your fault I spilled all over my jacket,” Mila said.
“Nope. It’s mine.” He held out his hand. “Please let me get it cleaned for you.”
She hesitated.
“Please.”
She finally nodded. “I guess I won’t need it next door.”
“Going to Underbelly from here?” Sasha asked, handing him the to-go cup.
Mila nodded. “I’m meeting some friends.”
Friends that aren’t me. For vampires, the night was still young, and he couldn’t join them anyway. Not that she’d asked.
“Nice to meet you, Dominic,” Sasha said. “Have fun, Mila.” She walked away, leaving them alone.
There was another uncomfortable silence, then Mila shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to him. “I’ll text you the name of the place my mother uses for her dry cleaning.”
“Thanks.” Even if she was blowing smoke up his ass about going to Underbelly together sometime, he’d see her at least once more—to return the jacket, which he suddenly suspected cost more than his truck.
Another pause. “Well, thanks for the coffee and conversation, Dominic.”
“Thank you.”
Rising up on her toes, she kissed him on both cheeks. Her subtle scent tangled around him, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides. She’d honored him with the traditional greeting of respect, but interest glittered in her eyes—a sexual interest she didn’t try to hide.
As they stared at each other, the space between them throbbed—with anticipation, with possibility. Maybe the date hadn’t been such a disaster after all.
She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Well, I’ll see you soon. Please give my best to your parents.” Picking up her purse, she shot him a cheeky wink and swung away, waving at Sasha as she strode toward the door that led to the nightclub on the other side of the building.
His heart and brain and cock fought a silent battle. He liked her. He wanted her. And…he was going to use her.
Sasha Sebastiani eyed him from behind the counter. Time to go. The sooner he started his laundry, the sooner he could tumble into bed and lose himself in hot, mindless dreams.
When he’d left Stillwater earlier that evening, Tia Quinn had been sleeping, too—but thanks to him, her dreams would be anything but sweet.
The slinky touch tickled Tia's shoulder, then meandered up to her neck, then over to her cheek. Something flicked against her earlobe, followed by a soft nibble. Wakefulness tapped her on the shoulder—the sun had set long, long ago—but she ignored it. Shoving the sheet aside, she turned onto her stomach, hugged her pillow, and willed herself back into the delicious dream.
Time drifted by as she wallowed in sensation...a languid stroke on her ankle, a lazy touch on her knee…long, blond hair drifting over her upper thighs—
Blond? Her usual fantasy men were tall, dark, handsome, and hung, but this dream lover was pale and lean, with a patrician profile, a soft waterfall of hair, and a wickedly talented tongue.
Hung? Oh, yeah.
Rolling onto her back, she threw her arm over her eyes. “Damn it.” She couldn’t be blamed for the R-rated movies her unconscious enjoyed while she slept, could she? No, she could not. Little wonder her dreams had taken an erotic turn after the fiery, edgy kiss she and Wyland had shared in his kitchen.
She’d thought him cold? Wrong. Steam lurked under his placid surface, just searching for a convenient vent.
She stretched her other arm overhead, then lowered them in a slow, snow-angel arc. What would have happened if Thane hadn’t interrupted them? It was probably better that he had—
She froze as her arm bumped into something…warm.
Moving slowly, she reached for the reading lamp on her bedside table, turning it on with a soft snick. When light flooded the room, shock kicked her in the stomach.
A snake. There was a snake on her bed—coiled, brown with bright green accents, and with a flicking tongue.
There was a snake on her pillow, too. “Jesus.” She leaped off the bed, but jumped right back on again.
The floor was…moving.
Snakes, dozens and dozens of them—on the hardwood floor, on her new throw rug, and crawling under the jamb of her closet door. The floor positively writhed. Several snakes were climbing the bed frame to join their pals on the pillow.
A violent shudder quaked through her body.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. They’re just snakes. Suck it up.” Garter snakes were perfectly harmless little animals that had their place in the food chain—not that this was
a natural occurrence. Hundreds of snakes didn’t suddenly decide that a second floor bedroom was a great place to party.
Someone had put them there. Someone had broken into her house—and her stun gun was downstairs, in her purse. “That’s fucking helpful,” she muttered, slowly and carefully climbing off the bed again, wincing as the bedsprings squeaked. The snakes were scattered all over the floor, shades of brown, beige, and green writhing against the dark wood. Avoiding the snakes, she tip-toed to her bedroom door, the one she’d left yawning wide open when she’d gone to bed. It was half-closed now.
Yes, someone had broken in.
Her breathing sounded unnaturally loud as she closed the door and locked herself inside. She made her way back to the bed, snatched the phone off the bedside table, hurried to the en suite bathroom, and twisted the lock.
After a quick look around—no snakes—she snatched one of the bright purple bath towels off the wall rack and jammed it against the gap where the door met the floor. Sinking down to the fuzzy rug, she dialed.
One ring. Two. On three, he finally picked up. “This is Wyland.”
Even scared to bits, her body responded to his rough voice, to the intimate stir of bedsheets. Her blood heated as she visualized him rumpled in sleep, shoving long, blond hair out of his eyes as he reached for the phone. “I’m—I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Tia? Is something wrong?”
“Snakes,” she said through suddenly chattering teeth.
“What?”
“Snakes. In my bedroom. Hundreds of them.”
“Were you bitten?”
Of course he’d ask about medical emergencies first. “No, they’re garter snakes. I’m okay, but—”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Somehow, his imperious command steadied her, helped her gather her thoughts. She explained what she’d woken to—how startled she’d been by the snakes, and her suspicion that someone had broken in and put them in her bedroom while she slept. “I’ve locked myself in the bathroom.”
“Good.” Something rustled in the background. “Did you hear anyone downstairs?”
“No. I think whoever did this is long gone.” Like most young vampires, she’d slept like a corpse during daylight hours. If the person who’d broken in had wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead.
No, this person wanted to scare her.
Mission fucking accomplished.
“Do you have a security system?”
“Not yet.”
More rustling. “You’ll have one tomorrow.”
Okay, his imperiousness was getting out of hand. “I can take care of it myself—”
“You can, but you haven’t.”
She bit back a sarcastic response. He was right. Damn it, he was right. The air conditioning came on with a mighty whoosh, pebbling her bare arms and legs with gooseflesh.
There were more rustles, louder this time. “What’s that noise?” she muttered.
“You’re on speaker. I’m getting dressed.”
Oh my.
On the other side of the line, he muttered a curse. “I’m calling Lukas and Jack. Stay in the bathroom until I get there.”
“Okay.” She didn’t fancy shivering on the cold tile floor wearing nothing but a camisole and men’s boxer shorts for the next twenty minutes, but she’d do it. “Be careful.”
“I will. Hang tight.” The phone clicked as he hung up.
She grabbed another bath towel from the rod, wrapped it around herself like a blanket, and settled in to wait. Had the same creep she’d felt watching her for months stepped up his game, or was this someone new?
“Hell.” She dropped her head onto her upraised knees.
It was probably time to ask for some help.
Twelve frantic minutes later, Wyland whipped into Tia’s driveway—and just his luck, her next door neighbor was sitting on his front porch. What in the world had possessed Tia to move into a family neighborhood, teeming with nosy humans?
“Hello,” the burly guy called as Wyland got out of the car. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” The man’s bare chest was covered in tattoos, and his knee-length basketball shorts exposed a prosthetic limb.
The man sipped from a red aluminum can. “You must be Tia’s boyfriend.”
Did Tia have a lover, one that spent time at her house? How could she not?
“I can see why you’re in a hurry.” The man pursed his lips in a good-natured whistle. “She’s a hottie.”
His fangs shot down. Before he could take a step, a sleepy-looking brunette poked her head out the front door. “I still can’t get the baby down,” she murmured. “I think she wants her daddy.”
The man smiled at the woman, stood, and drained what was left of his soda. “Duty calls,” he said, sketching a salute. “Nice to meet you.” He dropped the empty can in a recycling bin sitting on the porch. “I didn’t catch your name.”
Wyland gave the man a mild mental push. “Good night.”
With a baffled expression, Tia’s neighbor went into the house, closing the door behind him. “And stay there,” Wyland muttered, then crossed the driveway and climbed the steps leading to Tia’s front door. She might not have a security system, but she’d installed heavy steel shutters on the windows—manual crank, and tightly closed against the morning sun whose rise was still hours off. The door and door jamb were still intact. The doorknob, functional but flimsy, was undisturbed. Whoever had broken into Tia’s house hadn’t come in through the front door.
Unless he’d used a key. How many people had keys to Tia’s house?
He shoved the thought away with a snarl. Lukas would find out during his investigation of the break-in. With a glance at the porch next door—still empty—he picked the flimsy lock, entered the house, and closed the door behind him.
Other than a very dim light coming from the kitchen, darkness dominated. A clock ticked nearby, punctuating the silence. He made himself stand still for thirty long seconds, until he was satisfied he didn’t sense anything other than typical household noises. Tia was right; the person who’d broken in was long gone.
With the relief came more anger. As if her profession wasn’t dangerous enough, Tia came from a philanthropic family. The Quinns had money, disposable income on a massive scale. What had she been thinking, moving into a house that didn’t have a security system?
He crossed to the stairway, and patted the nearby walls. Finally, a light switch. He flicked it, wincing at the bright light, but quickly climbed the stairs. No snakes, and no damage that he could see. No visible footprints on the pristine carpet runner crawling up the hardwood stairs, no smudges on the walls. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw a cardboard box lying askew, with small slits cut into it at regular intervals. Carefully skirting the box—it had likely been used to transport the snakes, and Lukas would collect it as evidence—he walked toward the door at the end of the hall.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re a bad-ass.” Tia’s voice. She sounded amused, not frightened.
During the drive, he’d tortured himself with thoughts of exactly how much damage a man could wreak in fifteen uninterrupted minutes, and she had an overnight guest? A low growl rumbled in his chest. With fists and jaw clenched, he slipped into the room.
The bedroom lights blazed, spotlighting a beautiful—and empty—maple sleigh bed. Her duvet was eye-searing, purple and lime green, and several small garter snakes lazed on her tangled purple sheets. Her walls were painted a dusky lavender, and were covered with framed prints and photographs. On the floor, snakes slithered over hardwood, and dozens more curled on the abstract-patterned rug. Across the room, two wriggling tails disappeared under a door jamb.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. He did not like snakes, lampreys, or eels, and he never had. Deirdre had enjoyed eating jellied eels—they’d been all the rage in turn-of-the-century London—but he’d had to leave the room when she at
e them. Across the room, the snake on Tia’s pillow reared up, flashing its tiny fangs. He flashed his own, hissing for good measure.
“Oh, hey.” Tia walked out of the bathroom carrying a purple pillowcase by the open edge.
Hey? That was all she had to say? He simply nodded, not trusting what would come out of his mouth. Who’d follow her out of the bathroom? Who would he have to maim for seeing her in such a skimpy get-up? She wore what looked like men’s underwear, with a smiley face emblazoned on the arse. Her camisole was a ridiculous excuse for a garment, the knit so fine it was nearly translucent. Her taut nipples were tempting little points.
Outrageous—so outrageous that it took him several seconds to realize they were alone, that she was talking to the snake coiled around her wrist.
“I know, I know,” she said, gently tugging. “I wouldn’t want to go in that pillowcase, either, but we need to get you and your friends back outside.” The snake finally loosened its grip. She dropped it into the pillowcase and gave him a deadpan look. “One down, a couple hundred to go.”
He quickly assessed her—no obvious injuries or symptoms of shock—but she was covered in gooseflesh. “Do you have a bathrobe?”
She pointed to the door where the two snakes had just disappeared. “Sweatshirt and sweatpants are in there. Shelf on the left.”
He swallowed, hard.
“Speaking of which…” She looked him up and down. “Look at you.”
When she’d called, he’d thrown on whatever clothing had come to hand, shoving his bare feet into loafers on the run. What had come to hand was mismatched workout gear.
“Who’d have thought the Vampire Second had such great muscles?” she said with an impish smile.
Pleasure streaked through him.
“And your hair. It’s loose.”
“Your call woke me up.” He started to comb it with his fingers, but she stopped him with a touch.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
The room suddenly felt humid and warm, and the scent of lilacs swirled between them. They stared into each other’s eyes— “Bugger!” he yelped, recoiling. He gave his foot a shake, and a snake went flying.